The Price of Power and Value of Hypocrites
by DeusExfreak
Summary: "My motives are doubted. My intentions are suspect. My aims are nigh comically benevolent. My capabilities are obscur. I sacrificed my legacy to protect a people who would spit on my grave. My name is Densius Fidelis. I may not be an Emperor or a King, but I know what it is like to have a nation on your shoulders." Set between ES4:O and Infernal City. Finally complete!
1. ,,,

A/N: Note, bolded text no longer means it is in another language. Bolding will now be used to denote something is in writing.

Also note that this story is the third installment of the Rogue Province, Rogue Agent series. **_However_,** I tried to make it completely unnecessary to read either of the previous two to understand this one. That being said, there will be massive spoilers for the two previous stories in this one.

Oh, and one last thing. This chapter, and many subsequent chapters have undergone minor revisions as much as a year after their original publication. That is why some of the comments in the reviews will be inconsistent with the current content of my chapters.

Now, let's get on with the story...

* * *

"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."

- Abraham Lincoln

* * *

**Plucks-The-Plants,**

**As you might have guessed from the seal of this letter, this is indeed an important matter which I write of. Commander Civello ordered me to handpick someone for the task detailed below, and you were my choice.**

**You have, in all probability, not heard any in-depth report on the news about Argonia and exactly what led to Ocato elected to the position of Potentate. There is a good reason for that.**

**Allow me to proceed chronologically. The public is currently unaware of what prompted our sudden venture into Argonia during these hard times. I believe, however, we can avoid confusion at your target destination (which will be identified below) if I inform you of the details that led to what I am about to request:**

**Approximately a month and a half ago, the Imperial City guards captured a young Argonian woman they had suspected for the murders of Adamus Philida and Leyawiin Guard Captain Caelia Draconis. Under interrogation, she confessed to being a member of the Dark Brotherhood, and also provided a wealth of additional information readily: she revealed a secret alliance between the criminal organization and a secret pseudo-government deep within the Central Swamps of Black Marsh. It was called the Argonian Royal Court: it was the result of an attempt by the Empire to put the task of civilizing the province in the hands of an Argonian tribe. This project was launched under Empress Katariah, who gave large sums of money to them for the task, putting faith in their loyalty to our mission. However, she soon lost contract with the group, and all evidence of their existence vanished until this interrogation.**

**Due to the supposed pact between the Dark Brotherhood and Argonian Royal Court and the Dark Brotherhood's assassination of two high-ranking Cyrodiilic military personnel, the Elder Council decided, if such an organization existed, it would anoint a Potentate to declare war on the group. Believing, but not certain, advances in medical magic and technology would be enough for a non-Argonian to survive in the Central Swamps, a small expedition was organized to confirm the report of this pseudo-governmental tribe. The suspect who was interrogated (named "Soch-Eena") was one members of the expeditionary team (being promised her freedom if she complied), while the three others were all of different races.**

**One of the three non-Argonians decided to forfeit the mission, and the second died from what, according to accounts, seems to be the Khnahaten Flu. Clearly the Elder Council was wrong about the advancement of medicine.**

**The one non-Argonian who remained, Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis (who had, in fact, been involved in Soch-Eena's arrest), had aquired some kind of immunity to the Khnahaten Flu (and possibly other diseases) during a tribal ritual, in which his hand was placed in a cup of Hist sap with an aboriginal's. It changed the Imperial's physiology, both visibly and invisibly, to become more like that of the aforementioned native Argonian. This will be explained further during a subsequent paragraph.**

**As the two remaining expeditionaries continued into the Inner Swamps, and they were captured by this renegade organization.**

**The Argonian Royal Court told Densius Fidelis how his immunities were, theoretically, acquired. The Hist sap, according to their research, genetically alters some of the traits the two biological entities which are in contact with it to mimic the other. To put simply, Densius Fidelis took on some of the traits of the previously mentioned native Argonian, while the Argonian most likely took on some of his. The nature of this substance, we believe, is a survival mechanism for the tree, as Hist sap is only secreted by the plant in times of desperation, such as extreme thirst or heavy amounts of leaf loss. The secretions allow it to take on the traits of an adjacent competitor, and pass possibly inferior traits onto the oppositional life-form.**

**The Argonian Royal Court also believed the pre-historic use of the Hist sap explained the origins of the wide variety of "beast-races" found on the mainland before the coming of the manish and elven nations.**

**If these theories are true, and we have no reason to believe they are not, they are obviously tremendous discoveries.**

**Since Khnahaten Flu immunity meant Densius Fidelis' body was simply accommadating, rather than repelling, the disease, he was told going back to Cyrodiil could spread it to the denizens of the outside world. The Argonian Royal Court, however, had a substance which could expel the disease from his body. The group claimed they would give it to him and let him exit their captivity after he'd done a sufficient amount of services for them.**

**They put Lance Corporal Fidelis to various tasks, eventually using his body for experiments.**

**Using magic and Dwemer machinery to modify the effects of the Hist sap, the Argonians managed to fully remake approximately half his body in the image of other animals, and at speed far faster than the Hist sap is usually capable of carrying out biological transformation. His hands have been replaced with the claws of a large species of bird native to Argonia: the hackwing. His legs have become replicas of those of another species native to Black Marsh: the keenen, a large athletic herbivore known for its extraordinary leaping abilities (and speed, though Fidelis reports his capabilities of velocity have not been enhanced.)**

**Soch-Eena, previously, had escaped. This was after being sent by the Argonian Royal Court on an expedition to verify some suspicions they had about allies of theirs: the Sload of Thras. The expedition required of her the daunting task of proceeding to the Sload's home territory to gather intelligence. She indeed travelled to the Thrassian Isles, but returned to Cyrodiil rather than Argonia after retrieving her information: This is how the Empire learned of the Thrassian plot which has been ubiquitous in the news. In addition, she discovered that the substance which the Sload used to cure the Thrassian Plague (one I am certain you're familiar with) could also be used to remove the Khnahaten Flu from an individual, as the latter (the Khnahaten Flu) was a modified version of the former (the Thrassian Plague). This information made the invasion of Argonia possible.**

**Now that I believe I've provided a sufficient amount of background, I will detail your task:**

**You have been reassigned to work in the recently captured "palace" of the Argonian Royal Court, most likely monopolizing your time in the subterranean level. This is where the research on the Hist sap was conducted.**

**Once inside this installation, your first objective will be discovering how to reverse-engineer Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis' metamorphosis, restoring him to his former state. He is currently residing in Fort Homestead (located on the southern shore of Lake Rumare), his mutations a secret to all residents of the base but the Fort's Overseer, Captain Gro-Shurbuk.**

**You must journey to Fort Redman (the location of which is detailed on the map attached) and be there before the morning of 6th. Talk to a high ranking officer once there. At that location you will be placed in a unit which will escort you and many other staff to the illegal organization's former headquarters.**

**Several papers this letter came with will no doubt provide useful information for the research project I have assigned you to work on. Far more documents remain at the Argonian Royal Court's former base of operations as well.**

**Remember, your first task is to discover how to safely reverse engineer the changes in Densius Fidelis' body. Since his current mutations will, absent of intervention, spread at a rate of approximately four inches a month, it is recommended you send the required procedure to us as soon as you have solidified it. Mutation also seems to flower from any cuts inflicted, as evidenced by an incision made by the Argonian Royal Court to take a blood sample from him (scales now radiate from this site.)**

**Take into consideration that your work is in service of a war hero: Densius Fidelis was a recipient of the Medal of the Red Dragon for steadfast courage during an ambush on a humanitarian operation in the Elsweyri village of Cori Daglade, and may soon be presented with a second award for bravery exhibited during his rescue from the Argonian Royal Court's "palace." For this reason, I believe he deserves your utmost dedication and timely deliverance.**

**-Naspia Inilo, Cheif of the Imperial Biological Research Department**


	2. Fort Homestead

A/N: Note that if the title of a work is italicized in the "lore quote" section, it means the work is my own creation, and not an ingame document.

Also, information on whether Elsweyr was under Imperial control during the time of Oblivion seemed contradictory to me. I ultimately decided it was not under Imperial control.

* * *

"First, we must understand why this conflict has gone from being waged primarily in the 'stolen' Lake Makapi area to becoming largely a rebellion within Elsweyr itself, and therefore more of a war against the Mane than the Count of Leyawiin:

The current Mane has always been unusually sympathetic towards the Empire, making a rather abrupt change from the ways of his predecessor." **_-_**_The Elsweyr Conflict Today, "The Battlefield's Shift"_

Evening Star 9, 4E1

Fort Homestead, Cyrodilic Heartland

* * *

As I distanced myself, chronologically, from the swamps, my mind had sunk back into Elsweyr. It was the place I had had very intense emotion about, whose success I had had been hoping for so vigorously. It was a province that had given me and robbed me of massive amounts of energy, a province which had warmed my heart and, before I was removed, broken it by spilling the blood of my friends on the sand.

But Cori Daglade was one village, and perhaps they regret their decision. Perhaps only a few villagers knew who their neighbors were providing sanctuary to. My feelings on Elsweyr had mostly gotten back to what they were before that instance.

Elsweyr had been my passion before the mission in Black Marsh began, and now, with my previous adventure over for more than a week, it was becoming a passion again. I watched the news tensely, regarded dissent angrily, and fantasized about building bridges and becoming a hero to the people there: clearing the streets of danger, returning kidnapped siblings, and perhaps, in my own time of need, being rescued by people who once thought horrible things of us.

But fantasy is all it was. I was trapped in this little underground chamber:

This was one Fort Homestead's "guest rooms." It was probably used to house high-level officials in emergency situations, and perhaps there was some novelty in sleeping on the mattress that might have been used by an Elder Councilman, but I could not feel it. It wasn't luxurious considering its possible residents either: It had a desk, a decent bed, a cushioned chair which I currently occupied, and a three-shelf-high library, but its walls and floor were bare, save for a rug.

Yet being cramped in here made my mind wander far off when it was provided something to digest. The news, for example, was a very effective, but often unpleasant, way of getting my mind out of this dungeon.

The additional troops sent by Ocato to the land of the Khajiit did seem to have drastically reduced violence, but few enemies had been killed or captured since that reinforcement. That meant, perhaps, the hostiles were just on the run, regrouping. And if they were regrouping, they could strike a blow at any moment. That notion made the news a subject intense anticipation every morning.

Every bit of violence attached to us, the Empire. Every death brought a higher body count: a more powerful number to be screamed by the recallists. Few looked deeper than the estimates of the collective Elsweyri fatalities, so few knew how many of those deaths came from what our enemy deliberately did to civilians. For that reason, with every atrocity the opposition committed, more support was gained for the withdrawal of those who fought them.

But, if the land of the Khajiit continued to be relatively tranquil, Tamriel might see we were its guiding light. There might be hope for Elsweyr. Maybe Ocato would go down in history as he deserved to, a courageous, misunderstood visionary. The poor foreigners would rejoice as they saw Cyrodiil could bring them prosperity, even absent of annexation. The rich foreigners would be humbled as they saw this nation rising above their haughty disdain. The disingenuous of the detractors, who impeded Cyrodiil out of spite, would be embittered, and shrink back to obscurity.

I was brought back to reality as a muffled roar of cheering, then laughter and clapping, came from the floor above.

Captain Gro-Shurbuk was probably the favorite officer of a lot of soldiers: his fort was rarely quiet. Down here, though, things were uninteresting. He cared for the government's pet freak well, but there was little he could do except bring me the news and food.

However, I realized that noise had broken my train of thought on...Elsweyr.

Probably for the better. What had I been doing before that mental digression?

I had been reading a book. The line about Orcrest must have thrown me into the previous train of thought.

Reading was about all one could do in a room like this, whether it was a history book, an old novel, or newsletters the Orc brought down. I decided to get back to it.

What was on my lap was about the War of the Red Diamond, the war which had gone on for nearly two decades to spare us the tyranny of Queen Potema. Its title, I forgot, but I'd just begun a new page:

**Cyrodilic death-toll in the war of the Red Diamond is believed to number around 70,000. Some historians argue, however, that**

Then I heard armored footsteps were coming down the stairs towards my door.

It would be the Captain, no doubt, coming to give Densius Fidelis something to sugar-coat his situation a little more. I was in an awkward middle ground between my life's magnum opus in Black Marsh, and the reward ceremony which would mark the beginning of my fame. Neither had enough gravity to hold my attention given their current distances, so Gro-Shurbuk provided my food for though.

He hit this level.

Still, I had no idea what he planned to give me at this hour.

There was his signature double knock.

"Yeah, you can come in." I said, permitting my little cave to a wisp of the outside world again.

The man opened the door. He was the only other life form I ever saw in this room.

He was smiling, as usual. There was a piece of paper in his hand.

"Hello," said the Orc in his usual cheerfulness, briskly walking in my direction. "I know you like to keep up with news; One of my soldiers brought in the latest copy of Past the Borders, but they were done reading it so I thought I'd give it to _you_."

Good, something else to think about, hopefully more engrossing than this book. Plus, I'd read the publication before, and it was clearly apolitical.

"Thanks."

He held it out and I took it.

I looked down at the headline.

**Past the Borders: The Painted and Unpainted Sentiments of Skywatch**

_Vague._

Shurbuk spoke, "Would you like me to bring you a beer from upstairs? Anything to snack on?"

The sugar shortage had not made the Legion cut back, it seemed.

"No thanks."

"Alright..." he said almost teasingly. He turned, but something else occurred to me.

"Hey." I got his attention. "Have you heard any more about how things are going in Thras?" That was an area of significant interest to me after working with the girl who'd made that invasion possible.

His proud tone softened a bit. "Yes, actually...A...friend of a friend returned a few days ago from that place. He'd commanded a small ship, but all of his crew had to evacuate in life boats."

He had a hand on the back of his neck now. Hopefully I didn't taint his mood, but the cat was out of the bag.

"Are most of them okay?" I inquired. Jeelaha had baselessly assumed Thras would be "occupied" no later than it was invaded, but they were still struggling. To think he was a Sergeant...

"Most of them, yes, but the Sload aren't above shooting a retreating life boat." He looked down, briefly. "Not that I blame them. Captain Sabinus is going to be redeployed there soon."

Both sides were putting up a hearty fight.

"What exactly happened to the ship?" I asked. His smile had melted away.

"It got shot with some kind of under-water Sload machine. Something like a giant cross-bow. The Sload are used to fighting under-water, you see."

It was a weird war over there, in a way which favored the enemy and largely left us grasping at straws. The navy did have a small corps of soldiers dedicated to under-water fighting, but they weren't resource heavy (and almost never had been.)

There didn't seem to be anymore to ask, though I might have brought back some unpleasant memories in him. It was too late to change that, though.

I aimed to seal the conversation.

"Well, uh, thanks for the Courier," I said.

"Yes, well I, I'll try to keep an eye out for any more news articles."

The Captain turned and walked off.

His pace was brisk again, so if Thras did trouble him, he didn't want to show it.

He closed the door behind him with its signature heavy clunk.

Regardless of what he felt now, such thoughts would soon be forgotten in laughter and revelry of some kind. I didn't have such luxury.

I looked down at the article.

**Past the Borders: The Painted and Unpainted Sentiments of Skywatch**

**By Valus Jeranus**

**Skywatch, a city in the Summerset Isles, is renown for its architectural beauty. The towering buildings which give the city its Cyrodilic name are meticulously chiseled with intricate art-work which often illicits favorable comparisons between it and Sentinel. Similarly, the almost universally white-stone composition of city will definitely remind Imperial tourists of the Empire's capital.**

**However, architects are not the only artisans Skywatch is famous for. The city is also home to an illustrious trope of artists known as "Molaegmorn Mager Al", literally "The Burning Minds." This band of many talents has always combined the skills of several or many of its members to create large, public spectacles. From the famous statue of Erandor of the Coasts to decorating the grounds of the city's market plaza, Molaegmorn Mager Al has repeatedly dazzled spectators, attracted tourists, and brightened the lives of many.**

**However, the group's latest work, like a few in the past, is not intended simply for gawking, and will not lighten to the mood of all those who view it. The trope's newest art-piece, a recently finished mural in Aldendoon Square, is, in fact, a work of political protest.**

**Named "The Cruelty of War", the mural spans fifty-by-ten feet, and was the product of the collaboration of twelve artists including the group's founder, Hindaril of Nenyette (the High Elven name for the city).**

**As one might guess, the mural was created in protest of the current wars in Morrowind and Elsweyr.**

**Images include the detaining of children by Imperial troops, bloody corpses of Dunmer and Khajiit, and burning houses of distinctly Dark Elven or Khajiiti style.**

**"I wanted to bring the horrors of war home for people," Hindaril said. "Many have read about these wars in couriers, but I don't think those can provide the same visceral impact as imagery."**

**Though quite a few agreed with the message the mural sends, some locals also feel it sours an otherwise attractive location.**

**"Aldendoon Square was once a prime example of beauty in this city. Now it's tainted with images of fighting and death," said one local elderly woman.**

**Others, however, are concerned that the mural glosses over what has, for many Summersets, been a minotaur in the room: that is, the immigration of Elsweyri refugees to Summerset Isle due to the war.**

**"Artists are supposed to address even that which is taboo," said one resident, who asked not to be named. "I believe Molaegmorn Mager Al, however, withheld any statement on the issue of Khajiiti immigration intentionally. This disappointed me greatly."**

**The unnamed resident further clarified he is not part of the Summerset Isle's racial purity movement, which has spoken out against a perceived deterioration of Summerset Isles refinement, prosperity, and safety during the last century as other races have become accepted in nearly all rungs of society. He is, however, a virulent supporter of making immigration to the Isles more difficult.**

**While only a fairly small number of Khajiit have taken refuge in Summerset Isle since the escalation of the war, their presence, in Skywatch in particular, has elicited much negative attention after the infamous Sun's Dusk 29th Bank Heist and the raid in Sisailen Point, the latter of which necessitated the use of the Isles' elite Barduun units, a force often describe as a more rigorously trained version of the Imperial City Precision Stealth Operations Department.**

**Skywatch has, for decades, been considered the superior to its northern neighboring city, which has deteriorate significantly since the early the years of Queen Morgiah's rule. The disparity in reputation between the two cities is closing with the recent refugee influx to Skywatch, many feel.**

**Still, the messages which are there are presented clearly. The protest against these wars has been such a common theme of recent art around Tamriel, it may seem that any work generated with its sentiments would be doomed to feel stale and cliched. "The Cruelty of War", however, does not, and perhaps one day will become a sight for tourists of all political orientations.**

I couldn't escape the war politics, even in Past the Borders. My heart was pounding again, mind rushing in rabid objection to the mural the article centered around.

_You think there wouldn't be burning homes and bloodied corpses if we left?_

My blood boiled at men like that for their simplistic thinking, as if high price was enough to know to avoid a transaction, and as if he wouldn't be willing to endure war on his soil if the tyrannical and savage Renrijra Krin was trying to take over his province.

I stared down at the paper, breathing through my nose like an animal considering attack, or a man who'd been slapped in the face.

How I wished I could be heard somehow!

But I could not...

...so it looked like this dormant soldier would have to wait to cool down again.

But, with nothing more engrossing to provide diversion, getting relaxed could take an hour.

Still, it was this anger which emphasized my convictions, since my first arguments in the Arcane University to now. I was defined by the Empire's detractors. Seeing the Renrijra Krin murder a merchant for selling foreign clothing or an anti-abolitionist lynch a freed slave never made me angry, but the arguments of our opposition always did. The murderers and martyrs of the enemy had conviction, but my gut always vigorously insisted the people like those in that artists' trope did not, whether that was truth or a juvenile impulse.

They were people I was largely sheltered from after joining the military, fortunately, but they still poked their heads out now and then, never any less unoriginal and dogmatic.

I twitched. This caged warrior was helpless to talk back, and impotent to paint his logically built beliefs on the world.

I was trapped here, unfortunately. It was at least two more weeks before Lance Corporal Fidelis could get back on the streets and start making an impact again. At times like this, the confinement here seemed so much longer.

As angry thoughts brewed inside, it would seem like such a privilege to defy the condemnations of Hindaril with my magic and sword, and bring us closer to the victory with my own hands.

But I would have to calm down long before then. And it was best to start detaching myself from these thoughts as early as possible, I'd learned from experience. Otherwise, they would become entrenched.

I had made a contribution to the efforts of Elsweyr and Morrowind already...

Yet reading such things brought upon a greed for more impact, to act more on the disparity in reason between our side and theirs.

I tried to shift my focus to something else...

The reward ceremony, when my grand accomplishments would be presented in front of a large crowd, was only six days away. That should occupy my thoughts. Right now it didn't, but hopefully it would, soon. _The reward ceremony_: I had to focus my mind's eye on that.


	3. Daylight

"This district is very pretty, and only pleasant and well-bred persons live here,"- Guide to the Imperial City, "Temple District"

Evening Star 15, 4E1

Temple District, Imperial City

* * *

After spending so much time down in that dark cell, the daylit Imperial City looked like it was drawn in pastel as I was walking to Pelagius Auditorium for the pre-show rehearsal.

The robe I wore, which they had picked particularly for this ceremony, looked a bit goofy on someone, taken in isolation. But it was the mark of a small martyr, so I felt no shame in it.

The audience was to be told that I was scarred under that cloth, waiting to receive some experimental reconstructive surgery. Obviously, they could not know about the Hist sap's capabilities. They would receive only general truths about what this agent of the Empire had accomplished in the swamps.

I did not know exactly the kind of people who'd be attending, but I knew I would be presented medals by the Legion Commander Civello, and placed behind Ocato: Potentate Ocato, as I should start thinking of him. My life of service, and the events I was gifted to be a catalyst of, were, for the first time, put in broad daylight.

The auditorium was not far off. It was in this district, its back end extending to the city's central, circular wall. The entrance, at least the one we were using, was at its front end, though.

To get to it, I would turn the last visible corner.

This Legionnaire's mind did feel more stable now that there was this ceremony to think about. I had almost forgotten about Elsweyr. Such was not surprising, as this would be my first taste of fame. Fame: back when I was a child some part of me always suspected I would have it. Did everyone get that feeling, or was it an insight?

However, what I did would be juxtaposed next to the girl who had travelled to Thras to save Tamriel. I was still somewhat of a side-show compared to the real star. Nonetheless, likely our fame would start to exceed mine by a lesser multiple once we became the Empire's first wave of Hist sap super-soldiers.

The corner was very close.

I turned it.

Ahead there were two Legion watchmen, the one farther possessing a furry tail. They seemed to be flanking something. That was almost definitely the entrance. If it had the "Pelagius Auditorium" inscription over the door, it was.

I continued.

It was rare to receive an Imperial Legion decoration in front of a crowd. Maybe I just picked a lucky time to be a hero, because this ceremony was ultimately about Black Marsh's opening.

Given this was a pre-show rehearsal I was attending, I would also get to converse with those I had been broken from for a couple of weeks. They'd been privileged to walk amongst others, with the sun-shine, nature, and bright colors.

Now I was very close to the two guards.

I focused on that arching, metal banner, getting to a good angle.

**Pelagius Auditorium**

_Yes._

I came back to the lower world to see the Khajiiti guard looking at me.

"Name, please?" asked the baritone soldier.

"Densius Fidelis." Those words would shine soon.

"Go ahead inside, we were told of you ahead of time," he said, unceremoniously. This new fame was so far unimpressive, but not yet dissatisfying. The real changes would start when the _crowd_ heard my name and deeds paired.

I put a hand on the door, and he commented "I believe you're the first recipient to arrive." Not a surprise.

This newly-made champion was about to see what the room which would host his first public appearance looked like.

I pushed it opened.

What presented itself was a chamber shaped like the remainder of the district: a triangle with a its tip cut off, no doubt providing acoustic advantages. A slightly elevated stage was at the front, before which were countless rows of red-velvet chairs.

At the end of the chair-rows were guards.

Only a politician could warrant such tight security, as the closest thing we had to an Emperor, Ocato, would be speaking at a presentation in my honor! It reinforced the notion of the grandiose nature of this celebration. It was a tribute to a great advance, one that my partner and I could take credit for.

But it was doubtful he was here right now.

I realized I had yet to see the refreshments: they must have been on the rear wall, flanking the door.

I turned left, spotting another soldier and indeed seeing a table of various hors d'oeuvres laid out on a white cloth. Glasses filled with dark-red wine were also available, as was a pitcher of ice water. I could not sample them due to my secret body parts, though. Or could I? If the Blades knew, it would be okay. Did they?

Turning right, there was indeed another table, but also someone in white armor...with a familiar face and a glass of wine in hand: Giovanni Civello!

"Fidelis!" he shouted. "I'm glad you made it here! Once all the others arrive, we can start rehearsing." The Colovian country-man clashed a little with such a regal and refined setting. He probably wasn't used to formalities, advancing through the ranks on pure talent (a good thing).

I shifted my eyes to the table, which looked nearly identically adorned.

A muffled female voice came from the door. Soch-Eena?

I turned towards the entrance. It had been two weeks since our last encounter, but we had shared such powerful experiences. I started imagining what she looked like again.

Then the door began opening.

The Argonian walked in.

My mind re-adjusted a bit to her. She was in a blue, upper-class dress, clashing with the colors of her scales and the way I knew her; Back in Black Marsh, we'd both been spies, immersed in something rugged and dirty. Now were formal, to celebrate those days.

Soch-Eena looked my way. Our eyes locked.

"Hey," she said simply.

"Hi," I responded in kind. That was all we could think to say. It was anti-climactic, but it didn't seem to matter now.

I tried to make small talk: "Ready for the big show?"

"Suppose so."

Thinking I would perhaps spice up the conversation, I asked, "What have you been doing since we met with Commander Civello?" I knew she would have just started her first legitimate career after spending her life, since infancy, in the most notorious elements of the underworld.

"I'm working for the Imperial City Precision Stealth Operations Department." A mouthful, I had heard or read that name frequently these past couple of weeks. Such a career would probably be a respite for her, given what she'd just finished and what was likely to come.

"Seen any interesting action?" I inquired. It would not be surprising if, with the political climate the way it was, there were domestic terror plots in Cyrodiil.

"A lot's bubbling beneath the surface, but not much has come to fruition. They think the remnants of the Dark Brotherhood might be up to something, though." Soch-Eena seemed to have become the bane of the organization she once called family. The girl had quite a turbulent past, one which made my life seem cheap and hollow even now.

From behind me I heard a cheerful "Fideliiiis!" I shifted focus to a new arrival. It was Jeelen, whose entrance (and Deechana's) I had not even noticed. "How you been?"

They were both in that 'swamp-armor' I had seen at the Argonian Royal Palace, but helmetless. Apparently that was their group's ceremonial attire, even though it looked inexpensive.

"Hey."

He, Deechana, and Soch-Eena had walked me back to Cyrodill, so they knew more than anyone but Gro-Shurbuk about my inconveniences.

"You excited for the show?" the Argonian asked, a question with noted resemblance to my own a minute ago.

"Yeah," I said, having never had a problem with stage fright.

Still, this was a big day. I would be remembered for how I soon presented myself by a lot of important people...

He looked to the door as another person was let in, someone I recognized from the palace but whose name I did not recall getting. I turned back to Jeelen, who was still looking. Then he turned back to me.

He inquired, "So, what you been up to the past couple of weeks?" I would probably be answering the question a lot, though had to leave out some details, given I was a walking government secret.

"There's not much I can be up to as long as I have these scars." I had said the officially constructed lie out loud.

He seemed unphased, maybe having heard the cover-story before. "So...what? You just stayed in your fort?" I was reminded of the irritation I had felt being trapped there.

"Yeah, Fort Homestead, south of the city."

There were muffled voices from the door again. My arrival had just barely preceded quite a few other people's.

"Where else you been stationed?" He seemed to have taken quite an interest in me today. Maybe this was the slightly awkward start of a new friendship. He did act a little like Zaheen.

"The North Watch-Tower was my last place. Before that I was in Dune, and before that Vvardenfell." I replied. I had been stationed at both of today's most violent provinces and the super-power in between.

"You know what? I was in Elsweyr too." Oh! "But I just had to go to Rimmen. That place was as much a tour of duty as a vacation; beautiful city, hardly saw any of the war." Rimmen was part of the Friendly Hook: that which had always had fairly pro-Cyrodiil sentiments, and where there was little rebellion, and little crime or terrorism.

"You see any combat there?" I asked.

Deechana, I noticed, had now broken off for the snack table.

"Only once, but I didn't even get to kill anyone," he responded crudely. "Dealing with some skooma smugglers."

The Friendly Hook was an ignored model for the rest of Elsweyr, and its other two cities, Orcrest and Corinth, were a very common destination for internal refugees.

"Hey, Jeelen, come try this!" Deechana yelled from that snack table.

Maybe he wanted his friend back.

"See ya, Fidelis." Jeelen turned and went off.

Would we see each other again when we became Cyrodiil's next-generation agents? Maybe I'd make a friend.

I surveyed the rest of the area:

Our Lieutenant, whose name I had never gotten, had already arrived.

The field healer, Hal-Seeus, had aswell.

Our numbers were building up quickly. Soon the rehearsal would start for the grand presentation in honor of what Soch-Eena and I had made possible.

No one in the audience knew, but if the Argonian Royal Court's vision for Hist-sap-enhanced warriors could be fulfilled, I would be doing many other important missions. I would not integrate another province into the Empire or learn things which overhauled people's understanding of history, but I would be much more than an ordinary soldier. Surreally, I would be a real-life action hero.

Upon reflection, I realized it was like a childhood fantasy coming true.

I did not know if Ocato's motives for initiating the expedition to Black Marsh had been honest, self-serving, or somewhere in between: it was unclear whether the theories Soch-Eena had proposed outside of the Prison District had merit. However, it did not matter, just like the theories of the sugar shortage motivating our efforts in Elsweyr did not: It was the events those motives set into action which made the moral difference. That was what I had always believed.

Whatever his reasons, he had allowed me unprecedented fame. I would bask in that today, and so would all those attending. The face, deeds, and name of Densius Fidelis would become immortal.


	4. Awards

"Every Province of Tamriel has its secret histories, but no land in the Empire is as undocumented and unexplored as Black Marsh."- Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "The War with the Trees: Argonia and the Black Marsh"

Evening Star 15, 4E1

Pelagius Auditorium, Temple District

* * *

I was about six feet behind the ruler of this continent as he spoke to the audience. Theoretically, I could swipe my talons into his back and kill the most powerful man in the world. I didn't have such desires, but it meant I was being given an impressive amount of trust. Plenty of others would have taken the opportunity to put down this layered crusader, who perpetuated our fights in Elsweyr and Morrowind.

The Legion Commander was by his side.

Soch-Eena and I were the secondary level of focus for the moment.

The soldiers of the raid were the third.

"But this treacherous organization, the Argonian Royal Court, suspected a devious Thrassian plot to flood Tamriel with the Khnahaten Flu, to have the blame placed on the Argonians, seeing their allies as disposable. To confirm these suspicions, they sent the Empire's dear heroine on a dangerous mission to spy on the denizens of Thras in their homeland. Taking with her advanced Dwemer technology to gather intelligence, she attached herself to the vessel the Sload had arrived in and let herself be pulled for four days, with no way to get back but to commandeer the alien machine and pilot it to the mainland." Even hearing it now, the feat still impressed me. My experience at that point had been so placid by comparison.

"But, taking suggestions from her comrade, and unbeknownst to the wicked rogue government, Soch-Eena took with her the map which provided the damning evidence of the group's existence." I was happy they gave me credit for that, shifting their attention briefly to the robed human.

"She did not return to the lair which had held her in bondage after gathering valuable information about the Sload's intention. Instead, upon departing from the isles, she turned in the direction of this city to deliver to us the evidence necessary to confirm both threats: the Argonian Royal Court, and the genocidal plot of the Sload. The slug-men indeed planned to destroy a weakened Tamriel with disease. We have no doubt this intelligence has saved millions of lives, if not the very existence of our people."

The speech had inspired me, once again, to ask her what that mission was like.

There was a pause. I knew from rehearsal that was her signal that her decoration was about to be announced to the crowd.

"For this, the Legion Commander Giovanni Civello is honored to present Soch-Eena with the Platinum Star of Heroism!"

The crowd exploded into applause. The former assassin stepped out from her place.

She walked towards the officer under the gaze of so many important people (an action I would soon take). She once lived in the shadows, working for the most despised organization in Cyrodiil. Now her life had become quite the opposite.

As rehearsed, when she arrived by the commander's side, she turned towards the crowd and stood still, Civello's speech to come before the medal.

I decided to save my ears for when Potentate Ocato, as I'd finally gotten used to think of him, would call my name; I zoned out.

Ironically, these awards were nothing compared to what we gave _him_: Soch-Eena and I were the real reason he was in power, and that could have been why he really sent the expeditionary group to find proof of the Argonian Royal Court. Even though he was now our supreme leader, he was dependent on _us_ not long ago.

"...because what General Korst meant when he said those words..."

I surveyed the crowd again. Though most looked slightly aggravated or bored, I knew from presentations in the university that this was how spectators always looked, even if the quality of the performance was fine.

Then they broke into laugher at something Commander Civello said: an anecdote intended for that effect, no doubt.

Not surprisingly, the people in the chairs were quite disproportionately Imperials. The heroes, on the other hand, were all Argonians except me, and that wasn't the only way I stuck out.

"...thus Soch-Eena will be always remembered as such. Not only will..."

Less than a year ago, she was another criminal bane of our order. While I was in Elsweyr, she had assassinated the Legion Commander and a Leyawiin Guard Captain. Now she was the honored guest of the man who'd pledged vengeance on her former employers, with no visible friction between the two.

"...and so we endow her with this honor!"

The crowd erupted even louder. My former partner took the medal: the climax of her recognition.

She began heading back to her spot.

The audience was too posh for any shouts, but a growing number were performing standing ovations.

Society's admiration was no doubt something she never expected to have only a year ago.

Soon I would experience that. Still, she was a hard act to follow...

The applause finally died down.

Now it was time to listen for 'Fidelis', for my lesser spot in the sun. Ludovicius Ocato started to speak again.

"So we soon ensured her courageous work would come to fruition. We thus launched the invasion of Thras, which shall perhaps become the greatest maneuver for Imperial security against mortal forces in this millennium! Though their location has made for a dangerous field of battle, we make swift progress, ever pushing the enemy lines inward with the brilliance and diversity of Imperial mite, fostered by a united Tamriel." I felt a fresh, clean charge with his words, and a sense of unity with the rest of the Empire's people, no matter their class, gender, or race.

The next part of the speech, I knew, set the background for my rescue:

"But this offensive had another prong, which was the capture of the seat of the Argonian Royal Court's power. These soldiers who stand behind me were responsible for that prestigious mission. They journeyed into the Central Swamps, finding a region fraught with grievances generated by this evil cabal. Their mission quickly gained the sympathy of local inhabitants. A tribe called the Keseepa, a name which will go down in the annals of Tamrielic history, even volunteered their own blood for this cause." It was nice to hear a tribe of Argonians get praised by someone so regal.

"But the battle's greatest hero was the man who'd once found himself a captive of the nefarious organization." Yes, my time was close!

"After his ally's departure, Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis was forced to endure brutal experiments at the hands of his captors. He attained injuries which we have respectfully concealed under his robe." That was the cover story. "These wounds are in the process of being attended to with experimental reconstructive surgery produced by the minds of our greatest healers."

"But, while still in such a ravaged state, Densius Fidelis, upon seeing the soldiers' arrive from the West, tore himself from the shackles of his captors. He climbed a large ladder to the top of the palace, to single handedly eliminated multiple sentries which would have threaten his brethren below. At great risk to himself, he no doubt saved many lives." That, however, was true. Many soldiers came home because of me, and I could have wholesome pride in that.

But were they even going to get into how I got back down?

"For this," he began. Nope. But here came the moment, "we proudly presented Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis, war hero of Helstrom, the Imperial Legion Medal of Valiance!"

Those were the fateful words. Applause erupted.

The line was crossed. The attention was on me. It was a lesser reaction than Soch-Eena's, but not much.

I started walking towards Commander Civello. Countless eyes were on me, and they would go tell their friends and family what they heard, and it would continue to bloom from there. This was a rare, precious situation afforded to only a gods-chosen few. I was in the moment I'd fantasized about, and a time I would remember until I died.

I took my place at the side of one of the most prestigious men on Mundus, just like Soch-Eena had.

I stood firmly, looking into the ocean of faces, making sure not to remain on any one too long.

Civello inhaled.

"Thank you, your majesty," he began. "Lance Corporal Fidelis has not seen his first medal in this award. During his service in Elsweyr, he was awarded the Medal of the Red Dragon for his steadfast compliance with duty in the face of a threat. For this alone, he is deserving of admiration and respect. But the award I present today is not a recognition of fulfilling duty, but a recognition of going above and beyond the call of duty, using quick thinking and courage to turn the tide of battlefield without command from a superior officer." I kept a stony expression as his words burned themselves into my memory with their beautiful, searing light. So many gazes were upon me, the sight of me accompanied with this grandiose speech.

"The Imperial Medal of Valiance has, for centuries, been a symbol to all of the Imperial Legion and Navy for bravery, ingenuity, and invaluability to the force. It has been given to exceptional individuals, first to Private Amiel Fablius in the battle of Riften, and now to Corporal Densius Fidelis, for his role in the Helstrom Raid. Those who receive it are exemplars of the term 'War Hero'. It's a term we hear often. Some might call it redundant, because in my thirty-five years of service I've seen no man in this force unworthy of the term 'hero.' But we see today that even the hurtles of standard service can be topped, that courage and initiative can be taken to even greater heights." It was paradoxically easy to keep this face while I was being bathed in high praise. The Legionnaire's life I'd given my adulthood had finally blossomed into the illustriousness so many thought we deserved but a scarce number of us received.

"Densius Fidelis, armed only with his knowledge of destruction magic, went on the offensive without being ordered." I was 'armed' with the claws too, but that was a minor deception. "He climbed to the top of the hostilely occupied structure, distracting and eliminating the opposition as his fellows made it to the installation's western wall. He did this all alone, outnumbered many fold, and out-equipped all the same."

The pause.

The air hung heavy, and my abdomen almost tingled with excitement.

"We thank the Nine that Lance Corporal Fidelis survived, and without reservation, I present to him the _Imperial Medal of Valiance_!"

The spectators broke into applause again.

This was my moment, having heard speech in _my_ honor, and now Commander Giovanni Civello was coming over to pin the decoration to _my_ robe. This was the climax of the ceremony for me. It was dreamy. It was a glory hungry soldier's fantasy.

The brief glimpse I got of the medal showed it was shaped like an upward-pointing triangle.

Then the Commander was pinning it to the cloth of my robe.

Commander Civello disengaged.

Thus concluded my display in front of Cyrodiil's elite, but it wouldn't leave anyone's memory for quite a while.

It was time to head back to my spot, as I had already been burned into their minds.

I divorced myself from the sea of faces, turning.

I walked back with the medal on my garment.

That had been it, the moment I'd so heavily anticipated having come and left, my face imprinted in the minds of many.

Once back to my original position, the clapping started to die down.

The presentation would continue, but my part was finished. I had done it, completed my role in the ceremony I had anticipated so much about. There was more to go, but the highlight was over, and I was bathing in contentment and pride. There was a sense of unity and flow with the rest of the world. My name would by known by many far outside my profession, and those in my profession would look up to me.

Ludovicius Ocato began to speak, but I decided to tune it out again, giving my brain a rest since my moment had passed.

My story-book scene had happened. It was gone from the physical world now, but took a much bigger space in the world's sphere of thought. I felt a sense of place, and felt I could look firmly into the future without losing the pleasant memories of the very recent past.

I felt ready to take on anything.

The next big step, though, was getting transformed back to normal; They didn't know what was under this fabric.

Then the Hist sap could be put to even greater uses.

Densius Fidelis was a war hero and the opener of Black Marsh. That is what they were aware of, but what they didn't know is that I would be a faceless boogeyman to the enemy not long from now.

But this was the conclusion to my first epic, and it was my first taste of widely recognized accomplishment. After so much time fighting as just another suit of armor, I was finally esteemed like a knight in a fictional old tale.

Unlike in those tales, though, I knew there was much more to come.


	5. Awaited

"Most constructive, surely, is the acceptance of new cultures and races onto its shores, some occupying positions that would have been forbidden just a century ago. The Queen of Firsthold, for example, is the Dunmer Morgiah, daughter of Barenziah and sister of the King of Morrowind, Helseth. Her children, Goranthir and Rinnala, though half-Altmer, are fully Dunmer in appearance, and stand to inherit the throne."- Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "The Bless Isle: Alinor and The Summersets"

Evening Star 25, 4E1

Fort Homestead, Cyrodilic Heartland

* * *

**However, when the Zongea-Tuhn dropped its alliance with the Thenegornian movement, the Empire quickly too rethought its position in the conflict. Now the organization had become solely a force to push for racial equality in Summerset Isle, no longer linked to the anti-Septim ideology. Though its methods of attaining said goal remained and remain controversial, so did the tactics employed by the Summerset Isles' government to suppress their activity.**

**It was a matter of only a few months before the Empire switched sides in the fight. The Empire withdrew military support and demanded an end to its government's legally codified racism, under the threat of economic sanction.**

**The Summerset regime did not yield to this demand for many months, and continued to fight the Zongea-Tuhn even when forced into economic isolation. This proved near disastrous as the Summerset Isles' military resources quickly became exhausted without any foreign trade to replenish its supply of goods. The costs of steel soared, as did key ingredients for medical potions. Civilian markets were poorly effected as well, with prices of bread, beer, potatoes, and corn increasing drastically.**

**After over half a year of fighting the guerillas without outside support, Supreme Matriarch Cindilante, on year 356, the seventh of Rain's Hand, conceded to the demands to end the racially discriminatory practices.**

**The Empire accepted, immediately lifting its sanctions, and promising to punish any further violence committed against the Summerset regime now that acceptable racial justice had been achieved. Cindilante was once again under Imperial protection.**

**This marked the beginning of a period known Dalm ol Ebrantunwe, or Period of Opportunity, in which members of other races were no longer forbidden from holding government offices or high-ranking business positions. Many minority individuals in Summerset Isles saw promotions the literal day the bans were lifted. The Bosmer Annangar of Shimmerene is believed to be the first beneficiary of these lifted bans after he became the first non-Altmeri Captain of the Shimmerene citywatch.**

**The overwhelming majority of the Summerset Isles' minorities had always been situated on the smaller island to the northeast, the location of Skywatch and Firsthold, however. For this reason, the mainland remained relatively untouched by this social revolution. The "Eastern Boot", however, saw its citizenry enjoy a great many changes, with official bans on 'lesser races' occupying positions of power lifted. This transformation took on growing apparency within the next thirty years, as non-Altmer such as the famous General Arroz the Steadfast and Atheil of Skywatch (factor of Irkal Ad Armambor) rose through the ranks of the military, business, and eventually governmental world.**

**Many Summersets, of course, saw this as a moment of rapid deterioration for that region. Indeed, economic crisis in the area followed, as did an increased crime rate. However, many scholars attribute this downward-turn to the cost of**

I jerked as a knock came at the door.

Gro-Shurbuk? Was he coming to deliver more news?

But it too seemed early for him.

Maybe it was the equipment needed to fix me! And just in time for the new-year holidays!

"Come in," I said, setting the book down. Was what I'd anticipated really about to manifest in reality? It always seemed too good to be true, and always had been, but...

The door opened to a fresh yet familiar sight: one of the big metal vats from the palace! It had a tarp on its top and carried by four Argonians. A fifth one was walking on his own with a back-pack.

The long awaited was now here, the gods no longer holding back from me. My restoration was today!

That vat had once been something sinister to me. Now it sparkled like a diamond, and welcomed like a celebratory feast.

The four men set it down. They had no doubt gone through a lot of pain to bring this to me, but soon I would be freed so many more fold!

The workers began removing the tarp. A sixth person came in with what looked like two modified buckets (cut at the top and with their handles relocated).

I noticed the one with the back-pack walking towards me and smiling broadly. He extended his hand for a shake as he did. I stood up to began to walk, extending my giant, right claw for the same reason. It seemed he'd oversee this bombastic transformation.

I made it to the amiable Argonian.

"Plucks-The-Plants," he said as he performed an enthusiastic 'handshake.' "I already know your name!" Now he had a face to put to it.

He seemed like good company for the day which was about to come, a day which would repair me.

What was supposed to be the Argonian Royal Court's greatest weapon was now beginning to be utilized by its destroyers.

The shake finally ceased, and our hands went back to their respective owners.

"We're going to get this all over with today. Some of my assistants are just going to get some extra tables, and we should be able to get your hands each in one of those buckets."

He looked behind himself, then back at me.

Then he added, "You can take off your clothes now and get in, or if you want you can wait until they come back. Just make sure you keep your hackwing parts out of the vat."

Anticipation streamed through my chest.

There'd be less time naked if I waited, but since I felt very little about disrobing (literally, in this case), I decided to start taking my garments off.

I remembered this sedentary existence in Fort Homestead, a change from my physically active life in the Legion, had left some stretch-marks on my stomach and near my hips, but right now I didn't feel sufficiently uncomfortable about them to stop.

What I had fantasized about was now a reality, the tools for my restoration right in front of me.

It would be a full day in the vat, but then all this inconvenience and isolation would be over.

My robes were now crumpled on the floor. My underwear remained on my scaley lower-half. I removed those.

Naked, the body that was soon to be changed was now fully prepared.

I started walking over to the tank. Soon I would be free of these scales

It was already filled with the Hist sap.

I made that awkward first step into the yellow goo.

My feral foot sunk into the thick, warm substance. It had been weeks since I felt that sensation. This liquid was going to redeem itself right now and maybe, in the future, many times over.

I lifted my second leg and got it into the syrupy contents of the tub. It was just like a couple months ago, only now the sap was on my side.

Both legs in, I reoriented myself until I was positioned to sit on the protruding "bench" the vat contained. Then I began lowering my body.

But it was clear the sap would come at least a couple of inches over my normal skin. Had they done a surprisingly rough job measuring how much to put in? Would it transform that too, putting a belt of_scales_around my abdomen? Did it have to be that way? Some of my eagerness caved from under me.

"Uh...If I sit down a lot of the sap is going to touch my normal areas." Not the most articulate way to put it, but I awaited his response.

"Yep, that's fine," he said, seemingly unphased.

Would it work as I expected, or really leave me imperfectly human?

"Will it transform my regular skin too?" I asked.

"Shouldn't," the Argonian replied. "According to our research that won't happen."

My spirits rose back almost to their former level, though there was still a bit of uncomfortable weariness in me. It didn't sound like it meshed with how I figured the sap worked, and he didn't explain the science of that at all. Still, he was the researched expert.

With a slight reluctance, I sank another few inches.

I hit the protrusion.

It was done, whatever the results would be. I tried to loosen up. He would not lie.

This would be how the next many hours would be spent, except I would also have each arm in a bucket (an odd position to imagine). That additionally meant they'd probably brought _three_ Dwemer magicka intensifiers.

Now to wait for the other assistants to come back...

Plucks-The-Plants spoke, "You know, it's a really exciting field of research, this Hist sap stuff."

It was nice he was opening up to me.

"I'd bet." I had already been privileged with a taste of its potential during the palace raid.

"We think we may be able to speed up the physiological replacement process by a few fold, actually." Good, already a way to make this process less cumbersome. It was nice to see this feild was making such progress.

Maybe, with a few more months of research, we could surpass the Argonian Royal Court's dreams.

We were in on secrets more than ninety-nine-point-nine percent of Tamrielics were oblivious to.

I was still a physical representation of those secrets, but soon they'd be only in my mind.

I asked, "So, how well do you think the whole 'Hist sap super-soldier' concept will work?"

Plucks-The-Plants paused briefly.

He responded as if the answer forced him to press himself a little: "You know, there's still a lot of research to be done. I put most of my focus on your recovery, so I'm not really that qualified to say..." They had conducted weeks of research just for me. I really did have the warm gratitude of the Empire.

I looked down at my lower half through the Hist sap. Imperial legs really would look beautiful, and until then the drugs would numb the potential frustrations of waiting in here.

With nothing to do for now but converse, I decide to ask, "Are you going to use those seeds the Argonian Royal Court did?" It was essentially just idle chatter.

"No." Oh! "You see, from the documents we found, we knew the Argonian Royal Court only thought that was the best choice because of that drug's shorter effect duration, which made them more...chronologically precise, and because they didn't cause any tactile hallucinations." So even those bothersome every-thirty-minute seed-feedings would be gone! "We're going to use nerfide. It lasts longer and doesn't have the side effect of hunger. You've heard of that, right?"

An expensive painkiller that occasionally was found in drug busts.

"Yeah," I responded. It was more expensive than it was desirable as means to get high, but it did sometimes makes its way into the black market.

Ironically, ever since beginning the mission which would make me the Empire's poster-boy, I had tried two different hard drugs in as many months; that was compared to none during the earlier years away from home at the Arcane University, even during my time with the Mystics.

I'd been fed more of those seeds than I could count. In retrospect, it seemed a miracle I didn't develop some sort of dependence.

Then I heard two pairs of feet walking in: the assistants Plucks-The-Plants was waiting for!

I turned to see the men each holding broad-topped, height-adjustable target stands, which now seemed they'd get a very different, more resourceful use.

I looked back down at the naked body in the yellow sap while listening to them placing the "tables" on either side. I heard the buckets getting picked up and placed on the stands. It was soon to begin: my restoration after all this time cooped-up and hidden. Freedom!

"Alright!" said Plucks. "First I'll give you the nerfide."

He went through his back-pack, eventually taking something out, and then coming into a view with a bottle.

He uncorked it and handed it to me.

It was time to get a taste of something I had arrested people for selling. I grabbed it, wondering about its flavor.

I brought the bottle to my lips and tilted it back with a brief feeling of suspense.

The substance made contact with my tongue. Its bitterness was certainly unwelcoming, but I continued drinking as if unphased.

I finished, a bit of flatly hostile after-taste present, and handed him the empty bottle.

What would its high feel like? Plucks-The-Plants looked at his watch.

"Okay," he said. "See if you can get your hackwing parts fully dipped in the sap in those buckets."

That would require some odd arm work, but I began. I spread them to the side, then bent my elbows and put my 'palms' parallel to the bottom of those buckets. I pressed them down slowly, mechanically, into the sap until they made contact with the bottom of the containers.

"Alright," Plucks said. "Now we just have to wait five minutes for the drug to settle in."

This was the position I would occupy to some extent for the next dozen hours. It would be the iconic pose of this day.

I began wondering what the high would feel like again. Apparently this drug would give some odd physical sensation, though presumably nothing painful or frightening.

Regardless, this was my day. This was the fruition of all the work that had been done in my name.

Once out of this vat, I'd be a normal man again, with a new appreciation for the human body. From then on, I could go anywhere in the dazzling world above. My martyred state would have expired, but fame still recognized, and my freedom as great as before.


	6. Freedom's Approach

"Time and time again, the Council and Emperor were at odds; and time and time again, the Council won the battles. Since the days of Pelagius II, the Elder Council had consisted of the wealthiest men and women in the Empire, and the power they wielded was ultimate." -A Brief History of the Empire, Part III

Evening Star 25, 4E1

Fort Homestead, Cyrodilic Heartland

* * *

Any minute now this procedure would be over. My hands had already been removed from the buckets long ago, and my legs were done by all appearance. They looked hairless, though.

_The Hist sap doesn't work 'like magic'_, as the naive saying went, but the important aspects of me were all back, and I could not be anything but content on the nerfide.

Another tactile hallucination came, like my foot was tightening. The myriad sensations the drug threw at me were fun.

But I had also occupied myself in other ways:

I had passed many of these hours talking with Plucks. I had already asked the important questions, such as where I would go after this was done (the Southeast watch-tower of the Imperial City), and what his job was (though I never fully understood his answer).

I decided to throw out some more:

"So, heard anything on Thras recently?" That was a common topic for me, as it was an Era-defining new battlefield.

"Nope," he replied. "War's still going on, they're still pushing inward."

That was fine with me, as was pretty much anything I heard on this drug. I had not been calm like this in years.

"What about Elsweyr?"

"That's still not going well," he said. "I walked by a protest in the Imperial City."

Such words essentially slid off me in this state. The teetering situation of that nation was simply a mildly unfortunate truth I could shrug off, and his words were not unexpected. He probably knew I would feel that way on this drug.

I glanced back down at the legs in the liquid again. These minutes were no doubt precautionary. If anything in me still needed transforming, it was an area thick as a dust particle. In all outward appearance, I was finished.

I looked back ahead.

I decided to make some more small talk.

"What's the Elder Council thinking about all this?"

"The recall option is becoming more popular and I think that's the case for Morrowind too. We're fighting a three-front war so they want to...redirect a lot of our resources to Thras." I had a mellow apathy towards those words in this state, especially because I'd already read that in the news. I couldn't do anything about it right now, after all, and wasn't sure I'd feel anything even if I could.

What else to ask?

"Any interesting developments happening in Black Marsh?"

"I was stuck in that basement while I was in the province so I can't really say...I'm not really sure how well the rest of the colonization is going..."

_Whatever. _That word was this drug incarnate. I didn't need the rest of Tamriel working my way to be calm.

Nerfide provided the sort of placidity which was very rare in a person like me. Normally I was jubilant, tense, bored, or angry. Right now, though, I was at ease.

I had gone through three bottles of the drug to stay high the whole procedure, but clearly had already had my last one.

What else might I ask him? I'd already inquired about the banditry on the paths...

"Okay!" said Plucks cheerfully and suddenly. "You should be all set! Just lift yourself up carefully and I'll dry you off."

That was it, though the transition didn't feel so dramatic on the drug. Yet I could smile, because I would be mobile again, not just here, but everywhere.

I stood up.

My vision took on a dark green tint with some light speckles, and my consciousness sank a bit before my mind got back into its place. I _had_ been sitting down for a very long time, and the nerfide had made me forget that.

It was time to get out of the metal tank. I had been contained in it all day. I saw the cloth the Argonian had put down for me.

I lifted my left foot out and put it down on the floor.

I felt it touch the fabric.

Yes, my humanity was back and all in working order.

But it was clear the restored area was indeed hairless. A small complication: I wasn't fully free, but could walk around in the world above like a normal person, which was what was most important.

I took out my right foot. The same feeling came to that one.

I was out of the vat. It had seen its services through.

Now I was ready to be dried. Plucks-The-Plants went to get another cloth to rub me down. I kept my gaze on the brick wall.

There was an electrical sensation in my right arm, a product of the drug no doubt.

Some laughter emanated from upstairs. I would be back to socializing and enjoying myself with the mainstream soon.

The Argonian began walking back.

"Some of your hair might make you uncomfortable when it starts to grow-back...I'll come to your quarters and provide some products we use to reduce discomfort for that." It was kind of funny to hear an Argonian with an expertise on hair-based discomfort.

Then Plucks started drying me. I continued staring ahead.

The Hist sap was a stubborn substance, so getting it off required some vigor. I looked towards the dresser. Soon I would be able to wear normal clothes again, not those mountainous robes. Freedom!

I felt numbly accepting as my more sensitive areas got dried, a product of the nerfide, probably. Then he disengaged, done, coming back into view briefly and then heading to put the cloth back.

I was cleaned and ready to finally put on something new! Pants would feel odd after so much time in robes, but...

"Alright, Densius!" said Plucks-The-Plants crisply. "If you're feeling fine, then we're all done! You can get dressed and go to the watch tower!"

I had a rich world ahead of me.

I started walking forward, so pleased my old body was restored. I was back!

Plucks-The-Plants asked something of an assistant.

Pants, shirts, and shoes were in the dresser! They were tax-payer funded, good quality, and all availible to me!

I made it to the dresser while the men continued to work.

Before pants, I would need new underwear, though. I opened the top-left drawer. There were indeed loin-cloths!

I picked one up and put it on over the smooth, soft, peach skin.

Then, once my nether regions met conventional human standards, I closed that drawer and opened the one below it. There were shirts. All of them looked fairly hearty and at least middle-class. I wasn't posh or a government-resource hog, and I liked darker colors. I picked out a soft, simple, dark blue one and put it on.

I closed that drawer. I opened the next one. Pants. Some tan ones seemed nice. Taking them out, I then pulled them over my silky, human legs. I was almost fully clothed.

Footwear was on the next level.

I picked out some quilted shoes. I put them on.

Now everything was set: I was in normal clothing, in a normal body. My human shape was reinforced by my garments. This outfit would be remembered for a long time. It was a great thought to get back into the bustling, colorful, cheery world above.

I turned to leave, finally getting out of this stony prison.

"Take care, Densius," Plucks said. I had almost forgotten him in the haze of contentment...and nerfide.

"Thanks for everything." I replied, hoping I conveyed my gratitude.

"I'm glad I could help." Somehow his tone gave me the feeling he remembered I was a 'war hero.' Pride and a twinge of embarrassment permeated me.

I walked towards opened door.

And then I walked through it, into the halls I had so sparsely seen.

I was out of that prison, while the men who'd freed me finished their clean-up.

Staircase ahead, I'd soon be on the same level as almost all the other soldiers. Up another flight, and I'd be on the same level as almost all the other _people_. With acceptable physiology, I'd soon to be back in a Legion patrol, enforcing the righteous laws, arresting thieves, and maybe even thwarting the plots of anti-government ideologues.

I was back.


	7. The Arcane University

"The conquest and assimilation of Summerset into the Empire is remembered by many a living Altmer with horror only partially diminished by time. Certainly, the pride of the people has never recovered. During the War of the Isle in 3E 110, the Maormer of Pyandonea were very nearly successful in conquering their ancient enemy, and the Altmer had to call upon the aid of the Psijics and the Empire to help defend themselves. Even as recently as twenty years ago, during the Imperial Simulacrum, when the Altmer invaded Valenwood, their former allies in the Dominion, Summerset was only successful in capturing a small sliver of the coastline that used to be theirs." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "The Blessed Isle: Alinor and the Summersets"

Evening Star 26, 4E1

Southeastern Bridge, Imperial City

* * *

The Arcane University, the place where I had spent my first years away from home, that had done so much to sculpt me into the emotionally fluctuating imperial soldier I was today, that citizens of the Summerset Isles would journey nearly span of the entirety of Tamriel to attend, was across the bridge. People I knew were likely still there. My first morning back to the world where the sun shined had hit the ground running.

After a night fraught with giddily enthusiastic questions at the barracks about my adventures, there had been a disturbing robbery in the Chironasium; newly enchanted equipment was stolen, both items possessing combat potential, and the intruder had apparently attempted to make off with some important research as well. Before he could get the documents he was spotted and fled the scene, but still possessed two expensive and fully charged magical items.

While Brolus had the robbery to worry about, I was coming back to a place infamous in my mind. I had not returned here since joining the Legion, members of which now accompanied me.

When I had first gotten to the Arcane University, I never expected this life. I expected the cushy life of a civilian: probably a culinary assistant, speed-cooling food and making ice-cubes at a Market District restaurant with my hypothermal projection, fishing items out of unlit basements with my light spell, and using my combat potential only so I could walk the highways safely.

Instead, my life had been fraught with exoticism, blood, fear, and heavy purpose. That was not the case here, in the Imperial City, with this squad, but in my recent past it was.

I had gotten little time to get to know this squad, mostly because they were so insistant on knowing me, the famous Densius Fidelis.

But what little information I could pull out of _them_ revealed Corporal Laysenius had a brother serving in Argonia, helping the new colonization. His tales indicated Argonia was not only a hotspot for alchemical goods, but also magical innovations. The tribals knew some spells Cyrodiils did not, including one the expeditionaries already dubbed "mind scramble."

Still, in getting to travel to the Inner Swamps, he had also seen they had an uglier side. Inner Black Marsh had a very big slave trade, Argonians selling Argonians to Argonians.

All the others I knew essentially nothing about, because I had had no time to ask between their questions. We had a Khajiit and a Redguard in the squad, both Privates, and our commanding officer was unusually mild mannered, but other than that no one stood out.

However, right now, all was silent. I remembered I had picked up a copy of the Black Horse Courier on the way here. I looked down to read it:

**Potentate Ocato Pressured for Withdrawal from Morrowind and Elsweyr**

**WAR OPTIMISM FADING**

**When Ludovicius Ocato was appointed as Cyrodiil's Potentate, he was elected by a narrow margin. His support for two controversial wars, which he promised to reinforce once he received the meta-Councilman power of non-emergency troop reallocation, turned off many would-be supporters. Additionally, the discovery of the Thrassian plot to wipe-out Tamriel reinforced, for many, the notion that the Elsweyri and Morrowindic fronts were not worth fighting on. Today, no more support has been gained for the Potentate's agenda, as little more territory has been claimed in Morrowind, and chaos is back in the land of the Khajiit!**

**The redistribution of troops provided a brief reduction in violence in the Khajiiti homeland, but that peace has expired. In the last two weeks, Elsweyr appears to be returning to its norm of violence and anarchy! A recent attack on an Imga village near the Valenwood border left five dead, as ultra-nationalistic and criminal gangs have regrouped. Only a day before the aforementioned attack, a shop in Dune was burned to the ground and its proprietors beheaded for selling foreign books!**

**Gains made in Morrowind since Ocato's appointment have not yet regressed, but progress has lost its momentum. Imperial and Alliance troops are finding heavy resistance as they attempt to take the city of Praloris.**

**A majority of the Elder Council now supports recall from both provinces, citing the costs in money and blood. The Elder Council, however, is powerless to direct troop movements. The Elder Council could cut off all supplies to the two provinces, effectively crippling both wars and forcing a withdrawal, but that is a move which is supported by only seventeen of the twenty-four required voters. However, as resentment towards the two blood-baths grows, which are seen by many as an unnecessary diversion from troubles at home and in the Thrassian Isles, such prospects may not be far off!**

**Public opinion also puts pressure on Ocato, with his most recent speech attended by shouting dissenters. A similar protest was held outside an Imperial garrison in Sentinel. Signs read (in Cyrodilic) "End Foreign Oppression" and "Sugar Should Not Make War". Both show a boldness and discontent nearly unprecedented in Imperial history.**

**The Potentate continues to insist the two wars are necessary: the Empire's efforts, he claims, will keep violence from spilling back into the Trans-Niben, and keep the precious province of Morrowind in the correct hands.**

**But with post-ascension enthusiasm fading rapidly, Potentate Ocato may be wise to rethink his stances!**

The article was another slap in the face, leaving me feeling violated and discouraged. The Black Horse Courier itself was starting to have an oppositional air to it now. It was like I could never get away from the injustices of Fourth Era Tamriel. It was embittering to see this trend of regression in Elsweyr and recallist sentiment continuing. Never had cries against foreign hegemony been louder than against these two fights which had an unprecedented irrelevance to annexation; Elsweyr had an independent government which was permitting Cyrodiil's help, while our enemies in Morrowind would accept Imperial rule if only our province relinquished on the slavery issue.

I recalled where that protest was happening: Sentinel. My fists clenched; they weren't critical of us back when they needed our protection from Skaven, when they were too busy building tourist attractions to build an army.

My blood was simmering.

But I was jolted as my feet touched a step.

Right infront of me was the portal to the Arcane University. I'd nearly forgotten we were approaching it.

I'd gotten lost in the news, a trap I so often fell into, and now we were by the door to my old dwelling, where my political views had been crafted in counter to that which was preached. It was also where I'd need to be attentive, as we'd soon be interacting with the inhabitants.

For a flash, I vividly remembered first coming to this place, my first 'home away from home', expecting to synergize greatly with fellow intellectuals. But a mind like mine was largely alone, and soon bitter.

We passed through the doors, their creaking bringing me back to what felt like a lifetime ago.

My eyes again met the tower in the center, a hard tower to forget.

We started heading down. There was still a lone watchman by the steps, and the signature purple, heatless flames still flanked both the staircases.

Our soft-spoken Sergeant hit the ground. He turned to the guard.

"Sir," he said. "We need access to the main campus. We're investigating the robbery in the Chironasium." The watchman was a fellow Legionnaire, used by people who mostly dislike his employers.

"As you wish," said the mustached guard flatly, and began to walk towards the second set of stairs. Our squad was following.

It was here I learned of the Cyrodiil's previous support of slavery in Morrowind, but also that people only ranted about it once the Empire's war _against slavery _began; It wasn't slavery they hated.

The guard began climbing the steps. They were the stairs to the greatest repository of magical knowledge in Tamriel, but even as a mage that notion meant so little to me now. Instead, this was a place of argument. It was a place I learned things about the Empire here which threatened to break my heart, but decided things about the Empire which solidified and energized my convictions in our righteousness.

The man was heading to the right gate, taking his key from his side.

I'd forgotten where we were heading exactly...

Ah, yes: The Chironasium.

Would anyone in there recognize me? I spent very little time in the enchanting room.

But what about those moving from and to different rooms?

Still, it was early for traffic.

The gate whined as the guard opened it wide for us.

This was the territory few were permitted to see, but I had been here quite frequently years ago.

The gate was closed behind us.

Fortunately, no one was out yet.

It all looked regal, the circular tiled path and its artistically carved stone barriers, but the people here could only be the most disastrous kings.

This was a place of powerful memories for me, but nothing to them.

Brolus began down another set of steps to the main yard.

We all followed. Below was the grass where I tread from the Mages' Quarters to classes, the library, or to the exit every day for years.

I hit the soft ground. Now we were level with our destination. Our leader turned left towards the Chironasium, a place I'd only visited a few times before.

What was the name of the man who ran it...

I remembered: Delmar ran that area of the university; he was Redguard with a twin brother working in the Praxographical center.

He had put together my Telekinesis staff. It was more a gimmick than anything else, like most mages' personal staves, serving as little more than a status symbol, a way to preemptively scare off highwaymen, and method of impressing friends and family. Now it was lying somewhere in my house in Skingrad.

Our leader was right in front of the door.

Sergeant Brolus opened it.

The head of the enchanting branch of this university, who looked surprisingly older than I remembered him, had just gotten up from a chair, ready for this meeting, obviously. Would he recognize me? I looked down.

The footsteps went on for a bit more, then stopped. They were probably shaking hands. Delmar decided to introduce himself first.

"I'm Delmar, head enchanter and care-taker of the Chironasium. Thank you for arriving to investigate this burglary."

Could he possibly recognize me after only meeting me a few times years ago? Probably not, especially with this hood. I lifted my head.

"I'm Sergeant Brolus and glad to be of service. I would appreciate any details you could give us on the break in and robbery." They disengaged their handshake.

"Sure," Delmar replied. "I take it you don't know what was stolen."

Brolus shook his head. Here began the report, the things which would go into City Watch paperwork.

"Two recently enchanted items I had placed on that counter behind you were taken, one of which was a shortsword, enchanted with a soul trapping functionality. The other was a robe enchanted to resist the school of Destruction's three main elements. I had their enchantments labeled, so they must have known what they were taking. Then it seems the thief tried to unlock the drawer at my desk. There was some important research there about powerful magical artifacts in Southern Elsweyr, though I don't know if he was aware of that. I came down before he could finish with the lock. When he saw me, he fled out the door. Then he just seemed to disappear."

Going for research certainly didn't seem like something a typical thief would do. Brolus must have registered that, too.

"I'll continue to ask around for information on the intruder. Can you give any more details to me, sir?"

"I didn't get a great look at the robber before he fled. He was dressed in a black shirt and pants with a similarly colored hood. He didn't appear to have a tail but when he ran I thought I caught of a glimpse of a Khajiiti snout." Was that evidence of a connection to the Renrijra Krin? But that seemed like a bit of a leap.

"His tail might have been tied to his leg to mask his identity. Criminals often do that," Brolus responded.

Then the Imperial spent a moment in thought.

The fact the bandit wasn't in robes suggested it wasn't an inside job, although a change of clothes was an easy cover-up. And did he know the subject of the research? Most theives didn't attempt to steal paper-work. One didn't need experience in law enforcement to know that.

The Sergeant looked back up. "Can you give us any further description on the enchanted items?"

"Sure," Delmar replied. "The shortsword was steel. It looked new. The robes were tan; they were meant to fit an average sized Imperial male."

Brolus returned to thinking.

I started imagining how the perpetrator might have "disappeared." A simple illusion spell could have done it, activated the second he found himself out of Delmar's line of sight. That seemed the most likely. Other than that...the only other possibility was that the he ran very fast to the staircase we went down and took cover behind the circular stone wall. That sounded silly. What else?

"I'll continue to ask around," Brolus said. "I'll place two of my men in this room to watch for any further attempts at those files."

Would I be one of them? Would that be good or bad for minimizing the chances I'd be recognized?

The Imperial turned towards us. Here came the moment of truth.

"Densius, Tojo. You stand guard in this room." I was picked. "The rest of you should follow me."

He turned to Delmar again.

"Farewell, Delmar. I hope we find this man as much as you do." He probably hoped that moreso, actually, given the combat potential of the items.

"Thank you," the enchanter responded as the Sergeant turned to depart.

Being ordered to stand guard here was probably for the better, as I wouldn't be exposed to more than a few faces, but I would be the next man Delmar would focus on. I looked to the floor again.

I heard him speak. "And I appreciate you two guarding this area. I'm going to go off to get breakfast, so your help should be valuable."

He was a warm, friendly man, though the students in this university were often not once you disagreed with them. But I didn't want to tell my story to anyone.

I heard the old man pass us and looked up. Had it been improper to not look Delmar in the eyes?

Regardless, he was leaving me with Tojo, also a Redguard (though, unlike Delmar, actually born in Hammerfell).

Delmar went through the door and into the courtyard, closing it behind him. Now we were alone in the sterile, faux-ominous quiet.

Obviously our presence was more symbolic than anything else at this hour.

Behind me was the counter where the items were stolen.

I turned my head to look, and then, after realizing the ratio of discomfort to increased visibility, my whole body

I scanned the table top...

The criminal didn't seem to leave anything valuable behind, unless any remaining expensive gear was relocated somewhere more secure. Sergeant Brolus should have asked that.

I turned back, though realized this was a silly position from which to stand guard. I'd order Tojo to relocate with me to the rear wall (then turning to face the door, obviously), but decided to take some time to think first:

The Renrijra Krin theory still occupied the back of my mind...

But even if it wasn't the work of a freelance theif, there were others that would try to arm themselves for guerilla warfare. That illustrious rogue knighthood Ocato had disbanded was one example.

But they wouldn't be interested in research on artifacts in _Elsweyr_...

If the burglar was an agent of the Renrijra Krin, or a similar Elsweyri faction, would the students here be likely to help the thief in such an endeavor if the offer was given? There was no shortage of people who would champion those who fought our military, but that's all it ever seemed to be: championing; if my intuition was correct they would never risk their lives for the causes they preached as noble, because they wouldn't admit the real source of their anger.

They always seemed more intent on pointing out the hypocrisy of Cyrodiil's intentions than the righteousness of the oppositional cause, and could a simple disdain for our motives really get someone to risk jail-time? I didn't think so.

Though perhaps wrongly.

And all those scandals and war crimes of the Imperial Legion seemed like they should be stirring up some local sympathy for the enemy, pushing _someone_ over the edge, and maybe this was the first time I'd seen it manifested.

But I likely got caught up in this sort of thing too much. Probably it was better to wait to hear the information before I started forming theories.

"I really think it is a great honor to be allowed to guard such a place," the accented Tojo suddenly said, reminding me I intended to give him an order. "I was always hoping I'd be able to see the world's most amazing treasures when I joined the Imperial Legion." That was pleasantly counter-intuitive to the normal Hammerfelli resentment towards magic. Still, this place felt like a fraud to me.

"I spent years here," I responded.

"Really?" he replied with a fresh spurt of surprise in his voice. "Did you always plan to join the Imperial Legion, Densius?"

The Imperial Legion and the Arcane University; he had no idea how intimately connected they were for me.

I looked at my feet. "No. Not always." He unknowingly brought back up some dull anger.

It was lamentable I couldn't be in Elsweyr right now, staving off the looming recall with military success. Instead, I was relegated to reading about it in the news, grasping at glimmers of hope that we might be able to finish the job.

This case might link to that fight, but...

Cases like this often evaporated without being solved, and if we found any answers it would be a matter of days. Even then, our squad wasn't necessarily going to be the one chase the criminal. For now, things would remain mundane and strictly Cyrodilic, even when I wished otherwise.


	8. Will to Fight

"Let us not forget our purpose. We are thieves and thugs, smugglers and saboteurs. If we cannot take a farm, we burn it to the ground. If the Imperials garrisoned in a glorious ancient stronghold, beloved by our ancestors, will not yield, we tear the structure apart." - Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

Sun's Dawn 10, 4E2

Market District, Imperial City

* * *

The image of the Diamond and Dragon banners in Elven Gardens District ripped still hadn't left my mind, even with this squad already out of that place.

It reminded me what I'd dedicated my life to fighting.

But right now I was caged, kept away from the places I could make a real difference.

I had been silent, afraid the aggression might spill out if I talked to someone or someone talked to me. My blood was simmering.

But calming down was necessary. Our destination, the Black Horse Courier office, was close, and I didn't want to be filled to the brim with anger when I might be called upon.

I needed to try to redirect my thoughts...

We were heading to the Courier's office because of threats made by necromancers in response to a negative article on their practices: maybe thinking about _that_ enemy could dissolve the thoughts about the wars.

_Necromancers..._

But Elsweyr remained too loud even in the back of my mind, feeling more real, pulling vigorously. Our enemies were dragging their homeland into the abyss, and the crimes of the people the Legion and Elsweyri forces were trying to kill and capture would be treated as our own. Cyrodiil would have its spirits crushed for decades to come. People would look back at the war as an example of why we should tolerate evil.

I realized my thoughts had gotten back to Elsweyr.

If only we'd been able to follow-up that case at the Arcane University! Then I might have been able to antagonize the Renrijra Krin here in Cyrodiil (if they had sent the thief).

I had to try again to divert my attention from that emotional area somehow. Yet the gravity of everything else felt pathetic when the enemies of Cyrodiil were on my mind.

But, faintly, I noticed yelling in the distance, which sounded like it was coming from a young teenage boy. It didn't convey danger, though: he sounded more like a newsletter distributer. It seemed to be radiating from around the intersection of the district, only several yards away from our destination.

What was he saying?

"Attack..." I could make out. Maybe the gods had sent a worthy distraction.

The source of the voice was hidden by the crowd, but that one word made me compelled to seek him out. Ominous thoughts were beginning to flow through me, cooling some of the anger and replacing it with a less clinging apprehension.

Was he a Black Horse Courier distributor? Who else would yell like that on the corner of the Market District?

Most likely he was. But would the article just drag me further in the torrent of politics? It sounded like something about one of the 'unpopular wars'.

"Attack on Fort...nineteen dead...suspected." Nineteen dead! It seemed this might be a worthy distraction from the ripped flags, the storm replaced with a dark, cloudy void. Such losses might badly dishearten me, though. Was that really better than being angry?

My squad mates' attention must have shifted too.

I could see the shouter in the distance, an Imperial boy, holding a lot of paper. He would have to say the phrase he was repeating again soon, and this time we'd be able to hear all of it, probably. However, the death toll would likely remain the paramount component in my mind. Almost twenty military personnel taken in a single attack...

"Attack on Fort Nomore! Nineteen dead! Renrijra Krin suspected in attack!"

Fort Nomore: That was on Cyrodilic soil!

Finally enough people had parted so the kid was in view, close, standing on the corner of the four-way intersection.

He was handing a couple a copy.

Then he shouted the line again.

It seemed surreal to have almost half the occupants of a fortress killed at the hands of rag-tag guerillas, on our homeland no less.

"We'd like a copy, sir!" Brolus said with uncharacteristic assertiveness. The news had hit a soft-spot in him too, it sounded like.

The adolescent handing out the papers locked eyes with him and held it out. The Sergeant power-walked towards him. There was a subtle air of panic seeping in.

He made it to the boy.

He took the intimidating piece of parchment.

Brolus looked down at the paper. We'd all stopped moving.

To have such a devastating attack within our borders by anyone but the Daedra hadn't occurred for decades, maybe more then a century. The Renrijra Krin had ambushed some Legionaries on the roads of Cyrodiil before, killing a soldier or two per incident, but never dealt a blow like this.

_There must be some catch. _Maybe there was a reception of some sort outside the fort, thus providing quite a few 'soft targets.' It was hard to imagine the scrappy Krin cutting through so many of our soldiers.

But to think, the faction had done this right as the Elder Council was considering pulling the military out of Elsweyr. As we got so deep into considering withdrawal, as we began turning away from them, they kicked us right below the ribs.

The squad waited as our leader read. He was clearly quite immersed. We could only imagine what haunting events he was absorbing. How many would it turn out were fellow troopers?

I nearly forgot our target location was little more than a crossed-street away. But it seemed this article would be on all our minds until sunset, the necromancers now feeling banal.

"What does it say, sir?" our unit's Khajiit asked. _Khajiit, _I was extra conscious of that fact right now, though not in a particularly hostile (or friendly) way.

"The Renrijra Krin tried to raid one of our forts. They killed nineteen of our people." He responded. 'Our people' made it sound like they were all soldiers.

"How many were soldiers?" I asked. Did it say?

"Twelve were soldiers," he asserted simply. Plenty of softer targets, but still...twelve Legionaries, cut down by shabby guerilla fighters infiltrating an Imperial military installation...

"What were the other seven, sir?" Laysenius asked.

Brolus was silent as he kept reading, maybe searching for the answer.

"Three were medical personnel, one was a researcher, and the rest were delivering a shipment of some kind." He looked up from the paper, but his facial expression wasn't visible. "It sounds like they arrived at just the right time to take so many lives."

His words flowed like smoke into the expanses of infinity.

It was an ominous mark of Cyrodiil's vulnerability since the Oblivion Crisis...or a new Renrijra Krin strength.

Yet this was certainly a thought-provoking sign for those who thought Cyrodiil could avoid trouble by withdrawing!

The Elder Council...Had they responded this? This would no doubt this would feel like a slap in the face to those trying to get the recall...one they wouldn't let go unanswered!

This, perhaps, was a narrow bridge to the redemption of the Elsweyr cause. The results of this attack would be, most likely, thousands of fold stronger and more righteous than it originally looked.

I asked, "Did the palace put in a word about it?" What if this was the Krin's grievous, damning mistake? What if there was a glimmer in this, a spark that might become a full fledged bonfire, allowing us to burn that province clean?

"The article says that they cancelled the debate over Ocato's cutting supplies to Elsweyr, and scheduled a discussion for their response to the incident."

Yes, that was it: the hidden fortune shining with undeniable clarity!

It was now obvious, wrapped in terror and tragedy, I had witnessed a god-send, a divine shout against appeasement and surrender. It might have provided the perfectly placed hook back onto the mission.

The incident seemed so chance, so irregular, and yet it came as the key to a treasure chest.

Elsweyr had another chance to become peaceful and prosperous, and the Empire would now think twice about appeasement.

A horse drawn carriage clapped past us, like an acknowledgement of my victory by the Nine Divines.

I was jolted as Brolus started crossing the street:

The Black Horse Courier offices, that's where we were originally head: I almost forgot, but followed.

The attack obviously wasn't something to relish in. Such would mean bathing in Legion blood. But, as cold as it would be, it was something worth embracing.

A cool, level-headed but silky happiness winded through me.

This was a mighty gain for the price of only nineteen lives. A whole province could indeed know prosperity. An entire war, and, by extension, Cyrodiil, might be vindicated because the Renrijra Krin had made the poor decision to attack now.

I felt an urge to smile...

...a strong urge.

I looked down and off to the side and covered my mouth as if about to cough forcefully.

And I let loose the smile. It was a moment I'd probably soul-search a bit over, but what happened at Fort Nomore was a drop in a bucket compared to what that attack likely had changed. The push for withdrawal had lost its inertia. Elsweyr might have a chance to succeed: a blessing for them, a blow to all evil, and trophy for Cyrodiil.

And on my face was this moment's hidden, iconic smile.


	9. Surprises at Dinner

"Uriel Septim VII has worked diligently to renew the battles that would reunite Tamriel. Tharn's interference broke the momentum, it is true - but the years since then have proven that there is hope of the Golden Age of Tiber Septim's rule glorifying Tamriel once again." – A Brief History of the Empire, Part Four

Sun's Dawn 21, 4E2

Southeast watch-tower, Imperial City

* * *

Feeling content, I blew on another spoonful of beef stew. I was in the company of about ten other soldiers as those of us who were stationed too far from home ate dinner in the barracks.

I'd been feeling good recently given the Elder Council had scrapped the idea of withdrawing from the wars, even promising more funding. Elsweyr might indeed see light at the end of the tunnel, and that would energize all of those who wanted to improve the world.

I was still awaiting news of how things were going there since the incident at the fort, though.

Picking up my mug, I took another sip of beer.

"Did any of you read that article from a couple days ago with the details of the attack on Fort Nomore?" the Dark Elf, Private Telnim, asked. That was a change of subject. It was surprising I missed that one.

"I didn't," I said, awaiting to be informed. I knew I might have viewed the attack differently from the others, being so eager to see the Empire finish the job in Elsweyr; it was more a beautiful blunder of the enemy to me than a tragedy.

"Apparently the Renrijra Krin learned about this medical shipment which was going to arrive at the fort. The government's pretty sure they placed seven hidden bow-men around the building, and on some sort of cue they shot the fort's sentries and the three who helped deliver the supplies. Then they rushed in to kill the people waiting for it, and took the keys to the base from their dead bodies. After that, some of them left with the shipment, and the rest of them put on the uniforms of the sentry-guards and went to the barracks to try to attack sleeping soldiers." Though he said the words gravely, I had an admiration for that sort of coordination, but also saw humor in how they'd burned their hands with it. "Eventually they had to retreat, of course, but you know the aftermath." He probably meant the nineteen dead at the fort, but I was thinking of the monumentally greater, brighter side of the aftermath.

It was amazing that level of finesse could be spent on self-sabotage. Genius was mixed with such savage stupidity. It seemed a miracle it happened.

I said, "That sure woke the council up, huh?" conversationally.

But then to the left I heard, "The council will have woken up when they see we need to stop employing pansy tactics! I sure as hell ain't optimistic!"

It was Morenus who spoke, abruptly and angrily. The words were a surprise. He was normally rather sparing with his speech, but, clearly, he wasn't shy.

His asynchronous anger made us all a litte bewildered.

"What do you mean?" Telnim asked. I was curious too.

"I mean if we could take off our damn gloves and fight these wars like _real _wars we would've won before it came to this! Back in Tiber Septim's days we burned places like Praloris and Tsarama to the ground for harboring the enemy!"

It was unexpected and forceful, and it was discomforting for him to be so callous with foreigners present, even if they were members of our military; I still felt they had potential to believe the stereotypes about Cyrodiils when they witnessed them in the flesh.

"I don't think that would be good for our image." Telnim said, still not sounding any less calm. But his conviction couldn't have been firey: that was the standard talking point to 'refute' those sort of propositions. And I was sure it was a bullshit refutation.

"We had respect back then, and Tiber Septim had the admiration of Cyrodiil's people! Now what have we got? We've got people ripping our Diamond and Dragon banners in our damn capital, people waving signs right outside our damned forts! What was good for 'our image' was showing that we could get shit done!" Morenus hadn't lost any momentum, making him look a little vicious. And this still seemed so abrupt. Was I guilty of setting him off somehow?

Sergeant Brolus said, "Perhaps it's just hard for them to get behind us because we don't have a Dragon-blooded Emperor any longer." Even in a situation like this, he was still strikingly soft spoken for someone of his rank. We were all meekly working together to put down the anger of the man who'd ripped open the relatively peaceful atmosphere of our supper, and so far with little success.

"They didn't respect _Uriel_ Septim either!" Morenus retorted. I knew there were few chinks in his case. In secret, I agreed that the Legion didn't benefit from looking gentle, but disagreed that should change our actions.

"Well," Baldr began, "remember that Uriel Septim launched very many unsuccessful efforts with his military." That sounded like a watered down way to say Uriel Septim had a shameful penchant for failure. Still, it was respectfully put.

"Exactly, Uriel held back and showed 'humanitarian restraint' and no one like him any better for it. Nobody patted him on the back; they just rubbed our noses in everything we did wrong! We get more flack for nine people dead in Veranus Hall than for torching the whole of Praloris a few centuries back!" Unfortunately, he was right. I'd always believed changing our tactics would definitely be a hidden goldmine from a brutally mercenary perspective.

While his anger at those people was righteous, it was awkward to see him callously dig into the idea of doing whatever it took to defeat the enemy, especially when with Baldr and Tojo at the table. I felt an ever growing urge to crawl out of my skin.

But I decided to speak up instead:

"Well," I started, "it wasn't as bad as it is _now_ back in Uriel Septim's day, so the lack of divine right still might be _part_ of the reason." Another weak swipe at the beast, probably to run off him like water on a duck's back.

"They gave Uriel a half-ounce of respect for the same reason they put up with Ocato during the Oblivion Crisis: they needed him!" he retorted mercilessly, looking me in the eyes, making me feel a bit like a child being reprimanded. "That was back when Skaven was still a heart-beat from invading Sentinel and megalomaniacal wizards were popping out of the woodwork! Then when they don't need us, they pretend they never had anything to do with us!" While he tore into such hypocrisy well, I felt more uncomfortable than energized at the moment because he was connecting such righteous anger to blood lust.

I looked back down at my stew, which had been innocently on the sidelines of this battle, just getting colder.

Who would be the next weakling to charge the ogre? Who would next feel the pounding of his words?

Calvia gave his throat a brief clearing.

There was silence to follow.

Maybe all our words on the subject had been exhausted.

His case did have a disturbing amount of truth to it, and I'd always known it. I didn't think fighting that way was right, but it would ensure victory, and some high-ups might notice that.

We weren't the ones to decide the Legion's Rules of Engagement, either way. Perhaps it was no harm for him to think like that, and it was best to just let the unsettling words fizzle out.

But I felt I'd temporarily lost my appetite.

So the burden of breaking the silence wouldn't be on Densius Fidelis, however, I took a spoonful to stew and started chewing...meticulously.

Someone coughed.

Telnim spoke: "Anyone know when 'A Cold Summer' is being performed here?" he asked, though probably feeling very self-conscious and awkward.

A couple of people grumbled "no."

Baldr readjusted himself in his seat tokenly.

The conversation was once again nil, more awkward silence.

I swallowed.

The argument from before was still ringing in everyone's minds, obviously. Morenus still seemed unrepentant. What'd triggered that outburst?

Still, he wasn't the first soldier I'd heard echo those kind of sentiments, from whom I'd hid my real views. I believed such brutality would ensure victory, but war was about more than that: it was about keeping the price of success low for those in the theatre, and it was, more than anything else, about inscribing the right message in history: I didn't want the world to see being a butcher was the way to win.

I took another spoonful.

"So," Private Planius began, "any of you hear about the match happening at the arena on Fridas? Furry Fury is going to be taking on Shock."

I never followed 'the arena.' It baffled me people could throw their lives away for sport to begin with.

"Shock doesn't-" Telnim was interrupted by a knock at the entrance.

That was a good new place to put our attention.

Lieutenant Calvia got up from the table as I looked to the door. Who could it be? Rarely did a watch-tower have any unscheduled visitors.

Calvia got to the door and opened it.

Presented was a braided, young, Khajiiti woman with a letter.

She asked Calvia "Is Densius Fideis availible?"

I remembered there was food in my mouth and swallowed as the Imperial pointed to me.

The girl looked at me and her face perked up. She held out of the letter as she approached, giving a quick, artificial smile and a crisp "hi!" as I wondered what was going on.

The Khajiit was very near as I looked at the envelope.

When she was close enough I grabbed it.

"It's an important order from the palace," she said more sternly. That was apparent from the seal.

"Thanks," I replied, turning back.

She started walking out.

I stared at what I'd received. Many eyes might have been on _me_ too, but I didn't know or much care.

Last time I'd gotten a letter like this, back on the Gold Road, I'd been called to the palace to embark on the mission to Black Marsh. Would this be something as special?

The Hist sap project! That might have finally come back to me!

At last, I might be free from the banal life of an Imperial City patrolman, ready to take on the legendary!

I began tearing open the envelope, though then wondered if it was appropriate to do so in front of all the others. I decided I'd wait to see if there was any indication this was classified information, and eagerly continued.

But by now the envelope had been torn enough to see the parchment contained within it was folded so the main text could not be read. Only the big, red words **TOP SECRET** with, below them, **(Hope-Bringer)** were written.

That was the term Giovanni Civello used during our meeting when I'd first gotten back to the city after the mission in Black Marsh, the label for the level of secrecy of what we knew. This was undoubtedly about the Hist!

My thoughts were buzzing around like bees in spring. This was so exciting!

But this was sensitive information. Though itching to read on, it seemed I should find a somewhat more secluded seat first.

I decided to get up from the table and go to a remoter location in the room.

"Excuse me," I said and stood up. They knew Densius Fidelis was not an average soldier, and probably knew this connected to a web of secrets their minds never even touched.

There was a suitable chair against the back wall. I walked towards it.

This was the beginning of a thrilling new existence. My thoughts now flew to the deserts of Elsweyr and the swamps of Black Marsh and the ashlands of Vvardenfell.

I made it to the chair. I turned and sat down.

Now to read it! I began feasting on the welcoming carpet to a new existence:

**Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis,**

**In accordance with the traditional policy of the Imperial Legion and for the sake of our safety and future success, I would like to reveal as little as possible as to why you are being summoned to the location which will be identified in the following paragraph.**

**Come the 23rd of Sun's Dawn, the Imperial Legion demands you travel to Storshaven, a top secret government facility located within The Great Forest. This journey should be initiated no more than an hour after the completion of your patrol. You are expected to arrive at the mess hall, on the bottom floor of Storshaven, at seven-thirty in the evening. Directions to the facility are provided below. Make sure to keep this document in your possession during your trek to the aforementioned location. The directions follow:**

**Exiting the Imperial City, a path directly west of the main bridge will extend far into The Great Forest. This path should be followed until its conclusion. Once at its end, a very large stone will be visible to the southwest. The stone should be approached and circled until a second path becomes apparent. That trail should be similarly followed until you arrive at its stopping point. Another large rock will be visible to the northwest, and the required procedure will be identical. The subsequent trail should be followed until it, too, seems to halt. Once at that location, continue walking in the direction the path was leading you; after approximately forty feet, another path should become apparent, and it will lead you directly to the installation.**

**This envelope also contains documented authorization from a superior officer to bring all your standard Imperial Legion equipment with you during your travels, to ensure safety during your trek through the wilderness. Spriggan sightings and imp presence has justified these precautions.**

**A meal, optional to consume, will be provided upon your arrival.**

**-Colonel Lorgren Orius**

Secret facilities, high-ranking Imperial officials: this _must_ have been my first step in a career as a Hist sap super-soldier!

It seemed odd the research was being done so far from Black Marsh, but that only meant less walking!

Would I be reunited with those from the Argonian Royal Court palace raid again? They'd saved me at an important moment in my life, so I couldn't help but feel a disproportionate kinship to them. Soon we might share quite a few more experiences. Would we all be working in the same province, though? The government would most likely want to spread a resource as precious as the Empire's first super-warriors out.

Whether we worked toghether or not, hopefully I'd get back to Elsweyr, the place where my friends' blood had been spilled fighting for our cause.

A lot of answers awaited.

I'd nearly forgotten my physical presence. I looked back up at my colleagues.

They were back to eating dinner, politely minding their own business. Still, I was likely in their thoughts.

I remembered there was a 'permission-slip' I was supposed to give my superior officer, presumably the Lieutenant, to take my equipment with me on Middas. Now to find that:

I folded the letter back up and gently placed it on the ground (intending that as only a temporary accommodation which I would sharply remember to remedy) and took the envelope from between clenched legs.

Fishing through it, I quickly found an invitation-sized piece of paper. It was a elaborately decorated on the edges and had the Diamond and Dragon symbol on one side. I flipped it over to see sternly printed words on the other:

**This document signifies the privilege of Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis to carry all of his standard legionary equipment to any location during the day of Sun's Dawn 23, 4E2.**

Below was the signature of Colonel Orius.

Their likely curious minds would get a scrap of what Fidelis was up, or at least Calvia's would.

Conscious of what was still lying on the floor, I got up. Excitement was flowing through my bones as I walked towards the table. Come Middas, I'd be onto such prodigious things!

The officer's back was facing me.

Once close, I said "sir?"

The Lieutenant, still chewing, turned. He took the piece of paper. He began reading it. Obviously the man would give an 'okay', but the air was still thick with a thrill.

He gave it back and gave a firm nod, still chewing.

That was it.

I was nearly fidgeting with excitement about my upcoming destination.

All that was left was to figure out where to store the parchment I'd left by the chair. Then, in less than forty-eight hours, I'd be on the roads, heading to a secret facility to become part of a clandestine, super important, ass kicking adventure, a pioneer of a revolutionary form of transhumanism and perhaps a key to victory in the wars.

This had all come toghether perfectly: the attack on Fort Homestead had bought the Empire the time to get their next generation soldiers on the feild!

And I would be intimately connected with that luck. I would be infiltrating, killing, and evading in ways the enemy had never dreamed of. It was like a a childhood adventure-fantasy come tru


	10. Storshaven

"(...)to my people, the Hist are where we come from and where we are going." - Ancient Tales of the Dwemer, PartII, "The Seed"

Sun's Dawn 23, 4E2

The Great Forest, Cyrodiil

* * *

I must have been close. This was the final path, all the other directions followed successfully during this chilly evening.

An owl hooted as I checked my watch again, under the green glow of a magically charged hand (in the winter-months, it might as well have been midnight at this hour).

Seven-sixteen.

I had been on this path for at least twenty-three minutes now. Storshaven, the welcoming civilization in this chilly forest, must have been near.

I looked back ahead and started walking again. I would begin transition from the boring existence of a city patrolman to a mighty hero, all so quickly, once I got there.

The only thing interesting to happen in the city was a second, this time fully successful, robbery in the Chironasium, and if those documents were taken to Elsweyr I might even get to follow that up. It was a slim chance, but the gods had already been so generous.

It was not guaranteed I'd go to the land of the Khajiit, but how sweet it would be to return to the place where Cicero and Zaheen had died and carry on their fight! Elsweyr seemed more the kind of war, too, about infiltration and individual action, which the Hist sap could empower.

But first came this secret fortress. Storshaven would be the dock from which I would depart into uncharted waters.

The wind howled and rustled the leaves and branches of the tall trees. If not for my mood, this forest would have been spooky.

The road was starting to turn a bit to the right, so I did as well.

A twig snapped underfoot. I scratched my nose. And then something was visible ahead through the tangle of wilderness: Stone, and lots of it. Bricks. Excellent. A wolf howled in the distance, as if on que with my sighting of the building. I continued forward.

Was I staring at Storshaven, a top secret government installation which I could not have dreamed of seeing a year ago?

There appeared to be a front gate of sorts, and a door a ways behind it. This looked promising indeed!

Getting picked for that assignment in Black Marsh had done so much for my life! In an army of so many men, _I had_ been summoned.

It looked like there were guard towers, though I could not yet tell if they were occupied. If so, they probably rarely saw traffic on this road but knew who I was.

Going a bit farther, it was evident the towers _were_, the soldiers holding crossbows. No doubt they saw this green glow.

My trek through the forest would be over in several yards! I imagined what awaited me inside: Likely I would reunite with the men from the raid, my past in Argonia colliding with my future in another province.

The guard to the left cleared his throat.

The Argonians and I had been operating in very different areas since the assault on the Argonian Royal Court headquarters (they had returned to the Trans-Niben and Black Marsh), but soon we'd be together again.

The front gates were now quite close.

The gates opened via some sort of invisible mechanism, permitting me entrance. Warmth, food, and my brothers in cause all awaited, and it was all just a precursor to the excitement and adventure that was to come!

I crossed the line where the gates had once hovered. This was Storshaven, a place few were allowed to know existed.

There seemed to be a network of small courtyards on the surface, but I was heading for the door straight ahead, which looked to lead underground.

I got in front of it. Opening it, stepping in, and closing it behind me, I was finally indoors. This soldier was presented with a spartan stone hall and a set of stairs, shortly followed by a landing which headed to the right, presumably to a second staircase.

Heading down the steps (seeking the bottom floor), I was walking inside a state secret. There was a soft, almost tingling sensation in my chest.

Torches crackled warmly on the wall as I wondered what the optional dinner would be. It was probably something modest, since they weren't even sure we were going to eat. Anything could taste good at a time like this, though.

Approaching the second subterranean level, it seemed likely to be the bottom level of this secret installation.

Hitting the floor, I looked to the right for another set of steps. None.

Yes, this was the lowest level. Thrill flowed through my bones.

I opened the door and was presented with a T-junction.

The wall ahead had directions painted on it, and on top were the words **Mess Hall **with an arrow pointing to the right. _Perfect._

I turned that way and saw the portal at the end of the hall. I briskly headed for it.

_Top-secret facility. Imperial super-soldier. Classified Level Hope-Bringer. _A substance that had once seemed the epicenter of so much evil, the Hist sap, would be utilized for so much good, and I'd be intimately involved with it all.

I felt almost fidgety with excitement.

Once close to the entrance, I could hear some chatter. Behind those doors was what I had come all the way here for. This was it, all my companions in Helstrom were on the other side, and so was whoever would brief me.

I opened the portals.

The Mess Hall was revealed:

All the occupants were sitting with their backs to me. There were two rows of tables. They looked like they'd been pushed nearer to the entrance. The closest row had three tables, the one to the front of it, two. And it looked like I had been the last to arrive.

At the other half of the room stood an Imperial with deep wrinkles, stern posture, and cropped hair (light enough to suggest he was part Nord). With all the medals on his shirt, he was clearly a high-ranking soldier. To his other side appeared to be three lower-ranking officers: an Altmer, a Redguard, and a Bosmer (making for a surprising cluster of minorities), and another three men in mages robes.

I could smell steak and saw the final dinner plate being set infront of one of the Argonians table. My stomach felt all the emptier.

Soch-Eena, the only female, was sitting at the front-left table. Next to her was the only empty spot, with a plate of steak and salad waiting. I had been the last one to arrive, and it looked like I would be sitting next to her again, just like in Commander Civello's office. This illustrious human started moving to that destination.

I squeezed between the callous stone walls and the countless scaly backs. Fate had once again placed Soch-Eena and I together.

The steaks were steaming and silverware was clashing.

Getting past the back row, I moved forward and locked in on the waiting dinner plate and the Argonian girl.

It must have been pretty awkward for her to be the lone female, especially in a group of around fifteen males of the same species.

Then I was there. I sat down in the empty area.

The smell of meat had awoken a hearty hunger. I looked down at the plate. The beef wasn't seasoned, as usual, but looked delicious nonetheless. The side-dish was a salad, with watery lettuce, shredded carrots, cucumber slices, and olives (which I would avoid), all glazed in an oily, red-tinted dressing. There was also a mug of beer. A rather respectable meal: a pleasant surprise!

But the fact I was in the presence of Soch-Eena warranted attention too. It seemed appropriate to greet her, but then a baritone voice broke the thought.

"Quiet, everyone!" it commanded. It was the Imperial.

I looked to the officer. He had been waiting for Densius Fidelis' arrival.

"I am Colonel Lorgren Orius. I would like to welcome you all with great respect: you are privileged to be informed of the secrets we discuss tonight. " Yes, we were truly part of something special. Soch-Eena and I had earned access to those secrets through arduous risk, the rest of had simply stumbled upon them during the rescue.

He began pacing. "All of you were involved in the rescue of Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis." The last arrival, and again the center of attention. I felt some tender self-consciousness. "You saw some things you no doubt did not fully understand. You witnessed the capabilities of the Hist sap."

He stopped, and looked at us again. "The Imperial authorities have been studying the Hist sap, and expanding upon the 'Argonian Royal Court's' research vigorously since you all aided in commandeering their headquarters in Helstrom. We are now certain the methods and magics of the renegade Argonians can be used to enhance our own operatives greatly. Because everyone in this room has been endowed, even if by accident, with more knowledge of this than all but those currently in Helstrom, you will be our first deployments of these magics in theater of war." Just as I had suspected.

The husky man cleared his throat. "We have made much progress on their own research and streamlined the process: we now understand how to biologically morph subjects in the matter of hours to our own advantage, to enhance strength, dexterity, and mobility by combining animal physicalities with sapient operatives. You are to become the Empire's first people in the field to make use of this technology, employed for covert operations in Tamriel's most tumultuous regions."

What thrilling words! I dearly hoped to return to Elsweyr. How could that province be forgotten in a discussion of 'tumultuous regions.'

He began pacing again. "You will not all be working together. You will be divided into three small teams. You will not be integrated with the remainder of the Imperial forces in your area of operations: at this stage, given the secrecy of what was discovered in Helstrom, we like to limit the use of these magics for small scale operations in counter-insurgency warfare."

That sounded like Elsweyr. The province was so tantalizingly close I could almost taste it!

"Today, we divide you into your teams, and pair you each with a Captain. We also pair each team with an advisor, to keep you safe as you utilize a substance which is only sparsely understood."

I was bubbling inside, bones and veins running with sweet, invigorating thrill.

The Colonel cleared his throat...

"Soch-Eena and Long-Tail will remain in Cyrodiil, but be transported to a different location within the country. You two will go with Captain Bormir tomorrow morning. Your advisor will be Scalien Herrenius." I would not get to work with Soch-Eena, but I still might get the nation of the Khajiit.

"Steel-Eyes, Aruiz, Jeelaha, Weetum-Ja, and Geetun, will all be heading to," I tightened inside. "the mudlands of Morrowind with Captain Calindor. Your advisor will be Reeja."

Elsweyr had to be next. They could not ignore that province. I awaited the next set of names, clinging to every speck of time.

"The remaining of you are heading for the province of Elsweyr, tomorrow boarding the convoy with Rizzani and Pinarius Lactius." Yes, it was confirmed, sealed!I unclenched and filled with clean, euphoric energy. I had been blessed again! I would be able to go back and finish our work!

This brought glee, for a rich and glorious future. The gods must all have been smiling on me!


	11. To Elsweyr

"But most recently, during the Oblivion Crisis, Ka'Raska requested small numbers of Imperial Legion troops to be moved to cities in Elsweyr, something unheard of since before Elsweyr's rebellion from the Septim Empire. Though the attention was obviously focused on the Daedra during the Oblivion Crisis, the Legion remained during the aftermath to ensure security in badly damaged areas, and later became a counter to the internal forces of insurgency..." -_ The Elsweyr Conflict Today, "The Battlefield's Shift"_

Sun's Dawn 24, 4E2

Storshaven, The Great Forest

* * *

We were finally headed out, our late breakfasts of omelets and sausages finished. We were dressed in civilian clothing because this was a secret operation (I in a brown shirt and linens, Soch-Eena in a quilted doublet and black pants, and Jeelen in a black shirt and breeches, and Deechana in unremarkable, blue attire), our feet tapping the stone floor of the dusty halls.

Though I had not slept well last night as there had been a lot on my mind, at a time like this the feelings sleep deprivation brought on hardly seemed to matter. I was, today, heading for Elsweyr.

Jeelen, Deechana, Soch-Eena, and I were all near the back the rough line, throwing out random lines for each other to build off. Soon Soch-Eena and I would separate, but that didn't yet seem to make a difference in how we interacted.

"Glad we're going to Elsweyr in the _winter_," Jeelen said, "hot as hell the rest of the year!"

I knew that well. The heat was so intense during summer there was literally a threat of fainting on patrol if not well-hydrated.

But would my unit be going to the desert, or the southern jungles? It did not much matter to me, it was the same cause, but I'd originally assumed we were heading for the desert...yet the south was more violent...and the jungles would be a lot better for keeping our base of operations secret.

Only a superior officer would know, though, and none of those were near the back of the group with us.

We turned the corner and began up the steps. Outside would be the wagons. They would take us to our awaiting deep, grandiose adventures.

"Did you guys have to deal with any imps on your way here?" Jeelen asked.

"I had to kill _one_," I said.

"Guess I got lucky for once," the Nibenean Argonian replied huskily.

About half way up the stairs, it would not be long before we entered our transportation. Soch-Eena and I had shared the entire mission in Black Marsh, but we'd be heading to two very different worlds next, the Argonian left in mundane Cyrodiil while I headed to the surreal Khajiiti homeland. Would there be an ideal time for a good-bye? If there was going to be any special "goodbye" moment, it would have to come soon. I wondered if she...

"Hey Densius," Deechana said, breaking my line of thought. "Have you been getting a lot of highwaymen up north?"

Sergeant Brolus' squad hadn't been patrolling the roads, but from what I remembered there were many.

"There were a lot before I went to Black Marsh, but I'm not sure how bad it is now," I said. We were approaching the top floor, daylight and bird-chirps spilling into the crass stone hall.

"Oh, it's _really_ bad by Leyawiin," replied the Argonian as our feet reached the uppermost level, "my cousin's actually considering moving to Summerset Isle to get away from all the crime here."

_Summerset Isle_. It was a bit embittering to think of them taking away another one of our people, since the only reason they managed to keep such tight order in their province was-

"This unit will split into its respective groups now," called Colonel Orius, who had now turned to speak to all of us. I refocused on the present. There were covered wagons ahead, more than three, surprisingly, all with varying amounts of equipment. It seemed like some of them already had men inside.

"Long-Tail and Soch-Eena will go to the left-most vehicle." That was it, the split between us. What should I say?

Soch-Eena broke from her place behind me. This was the last time I would see her. I decided to let out a "Bye, Soch-Eena."

She lifted her hand as if in a subtle wave. That was our unceremonious separation.

The wagon Orius was talking about was already occupied by two people, one of which was the Wood Elf Captain. There was also at least one metal vat (identical in design to the ones the Argonian Royal Court had used in the Hist sap experiments) and some boxes. The vats brought back some unpleasant memories, but putting weight on such was childish; they were going to be used for great things.

"Steel-Eyes, Jeelaha, Aruiz, Weetum-Ja, and Geetun will proceed into the wagon right of the one just entered."

They broke out of their respective positions to head for their ride to an alien mission in an alien province.

All the soldiers who were heading to Morrowind or Cyrodiil had now been assigned wagons. Were the remaining four all for Elsweyr? But one looked to have quite a lot stored in it (as well as two occupants already), so maybe it was headed for Morrowind too but not to be boarded by any additional personnel.

"The vehicle farthest to the right is to be occupied by Jeelen, Deechana, Hal-Seeus, Reesaka, and Collects-Rocks."

Jeelen and Deechana left our formation.

At least I'd be able to fight alongside _those two_ in Elsweyr. I got the sense we three were going to become tight-knit as our work in the Khajiiti homeland progressed.

"Fidelis, Sala-Keesh, and Jilheen will proceed to the one to its left."

That was my calling.

This human got out of the formation, Lieutenant Sala-Keesh emerging ahead of me too (though it was strange to think of him as such as we wore civilian clothing). I began heading for the vehicle that would take me to Elsweyr, just like I'd dearly hoped.

The transportation I was to occupy already had the Redguard officer Rizzani, wearing an olive vest, in it, as well as some vats (again identical to the ones the Argonian Royal Court had used) and crates. It would take me to the bizarre yet familiar province, where giant talking cats were ridden like horses and the male nipple was a private part.

From the directions we were walking, Sala-Keesh looked like he was going to sit across from the mustached Redguard, and I next to the Sala.

A strong breeze blew as the Lieutenant began climbing his way in. After that, he squeezed his way through boxes and tanks to get to his spot.

_I_ then climbed in.

There were only two vats in here, but many boxes, as well as some miscellaneous clutter. It would take some effort to find a spot where my feet would have a comfortable amount of room. A place, however, became evident. The area would put some distance between the others and I, but I assumed they would take no offense.

I got there and sat down.

This was where I would sit until the arrival in Elsweyr. _Elsweyr: _such exciting, inspiring prospects! A clearly righteous fight and chance to shape the drives of the new Era awaited me.

Where were we headed in the country exactly, though? I'd forgotten to inquire. I looked towards Rizzani and asked.

He responded, "Right outside Torval, the deep south."

"Thanks," I replied, also glad I wouldn't be the only one here with a Colovian accent.

A jungle setting wouldn't be anything like the last place in Elsweyr I had been stationed, tactically. It might be more difficult transversing terrain in one, but at least it would have plenty of shade.

Then Colonel Orius shouted, "Drivers, you may proceed with your journey as discussed!" Here came the departure, the start of a ride out of Cyrodiil and back to Elsweyr, the place where my friends' blood has been spilled. It would have different aesthetics and obstacles, but the same cause.

Rather than clapping off all at once, only one set of horse feet could be heard (we must have been ordered to move in single-file).

Then another. So soon after the mission in Argonia, I was again involved in something very empowering, adventurous, and almost childishly self-centric (being only one out of the less than twenty of Cyrodiil's first super-soldier wave); _unlike_ the quest in Black Marsh, however, there was little fear of not coming back. We were staring into a new horizon, a vast unknown with many opportunities for glory and discovery: but, differing from most adventures, there was a chance to help right some serious wrongs too.

Another set of horse feet trotted onward. Would ours be next?

The driver coughed.

And then ours began moving.

That was it. We were heading towards Khajiiti province, just like I had hoped for. Late in the day after tomorrow, we'd likely be in Elsweyr.

I would be much more powerful than last time, able to use the technology this human helped procure. It had all come together perfectly: Elsweyr, arresting Soch-Eena, Black Marsh, the Argonian Royal Court Hist sap project, Elsweyr again as a super-warrior. I had become the heroic opener of Black Marsh, and now I would be the vanguard of a powerful super-soldier project, taking vengeance on the forces of disorder in a the Khajiiti homeland.

As our wooden wheels went down the rough path, I wondered what composed the miscellaneous clutter on the floor I'd only glanced at. I looked down at the items nearest my feet:

There was a small pile of books: recreational reading, it seemed. I decided to look at the titles.

**The Guilty** was on top.

Moving that, below it was...

**The Sinners**

Was there a running theme here? I checked the next one:

**Dance in Fire**

No, that was about some guy going to Valenwood to commission a road or something like that.

**3E692**

_A sadly naive title._

**The Art of War Magic**

_The Art of War Magic_. I'd always been interested in that book, but never had had a chance to read it. My life'd _become_ about war magic, after all. What better book could there be for a man like me?

I decided to pick it up.

It's cover was simple, scarlet with gold letters. I opened about a quarter through.

**Master Arctus said:**

**1. The moment to prepare your offense is the moment the enemy becomes vulnerable to attack.**

**Leros Chael: Knowledge of the enemy mage's mind is of the foremost importance. Once you know his mind, you will know his weaknesses.**

**Sedd Mar: Master Arctus advised Tiber Septim before the battle of Five Bridges not to commit his reserves until the enemy was victorious. Tiber Septim said, "If the enemy is already victorious, what use committing the reserve?" To which Master Arctus replied, "Only in victory will the enemy be vulnerable to defeat." Tiber Septim went on to rout an enemy army twice the size of his.**

**2. The enemy's vulnerability may be his strongest point; your weakness may enable you to strike the decisive blow.**

**Marandro Ur: In the wars between the Nords and the Chimer, the Nord shamans invariably used their mastery of the winds to call down storms before battle to confuse and dismay the Chimer warriors. One day, a clever Chimer sorcerer conjured up an ice demon and commanded him to hide in the rocks near the rear of the Chimer army. When the Nords called down the storms as usual, the Chimer warriors began to waver. But the ice demon rose up as the storm struck, and the Chimer turned in fear from what they believed was a Nord demon and charged into the enemy line, less afraid of the storm than of the demon. The Nords, expecting the Chimer to flee as usual, were caught off guard when the Chimer attacked out of the midst of the storm. The Chimer were victorious that day.**

**3. When planning a campaign, take account of both the arcane and the mundane. The skillful battlemage ensures that they are in balance; a weight lifted by one hand is heavier than two weights lifted by both hands.**

The advice was disappointing, like it had been treasured only because it managed to survive for four-hundred years. It was either infantilely basic and obvious, or would only apply well in very unlikely circumstances. Nothing provided any genius insight I was hoping for. Like many old things, it was overrated. _A shame_.

With the tome set down I got back to looking.

**All Aboard**

**Initiative**

**Economenons**

**Brothers in Blood**

**The Criminal**

Under the last appeared to be some pamphlets. I lifted the book to see their covers...

The first leaflet was a plain white with bold black letters:

**Basic Guide to Khajiiti forms for Imperial Military Personnel:**

Back in Dune our camp had those pamphlets. I'd had them well enough memorized once, though I might refresh my memory on the breeds later.

Below that was a thicker pamphlet, and the words on it were, in a more stylized font on a blue-green background:

**Ahzirr Trajijazaeri**

This stood out from the rest of the titles I had read. The language sounded Ta'agran (the Elsweyri tongue). Interesting...and somehow forbidding. I picked it up, wondering what this odd pamphlet could be.

"That's old Renrijra Krin propaganda from back before the Oblivion Crisis," the Captain startled me, apparently seeing my grudging curiosity. No wonder it felt a little forbidding, my intuition was even more useful than I expected.

_Know thy enemy. _To keep oppositional propaganda with him, the Captain (assuming he had made the decision) said something about his character. I was not sure what, but something.

I looked at it with slight apprehension and slight enticement, wondering whether to open and read it. Enemy propaganda would probably steam and unpleasantly captivate me (even if it was from a time when the war politics were quite different), and this wasn't a great time for that. Perhaps I'd save it for later.

Yet it was still alluring in some way...like much oppositional political writing...

But no, an inexplicable temptation to look at these sorts of works was how my entanglements usually got tied.

I set it down.

With the propaganda back on the floor, I looked up again, now feeling a little self-conscious.

"So, guys think we might actually win this war?" said Jilheen non-chalantly, perhaps triggered by the pamphlet I just laid to rest.

The right side of our wagon went over a bump.

"So long as the people see the Renrijra Krin's ready to knock down our doors in the Trans-Niben if we don't do something, things will work out!" the Captain replied, though no one would expect him to say 'no.'

But didn't such an answer imply the other unpopular war wouldn't succeed? I decided to ask, "But what about Morrowind?"

"That's not our struggle to worry about, Fidelis!" he replied. From a Captain, that seemed like a flaccid confidence, unsettlingly.

Could the Elder Council really get behind a recall again?

The question of why had had so much trouble gaining support for the endeavors in Elsweyr and Morrowind had been on my mind. In both conflicts the enemy could hardly have been more rotten: one supported slavery, the very thing the Alessian rebellion had been fought against, and the other (while originally more sympathizable), would now murder their countrymen for getting the wrong hair-cut.

It was an inquiry I had largely kept to myself. But we in this wagon would probably ask each other nearly everything eventually, so I decide to pose the question:

"Why do you think people are so reluctant to support the wars in Morrowind and Elsweyr, anyway? I mean, casualties were a lot worse in previous conflicts, and we're not even trying to get any more power over anyone." I'd been told foreigners hated paying taxes to fund the Legion and the missions and that they hated having resources extracted from their homeland, but these two wars would enable none of that.

"We had a divine emperor back then, Fidelis," Rizzani said, sounding a hint jaded in that sentence. I'd heard that argument before, but still didn't totally understand it. It was quite expected people would be reticent to have a common-blooded elf running the show, but for it to effect their perception of self-contained issues was a different story. Was I missing part of it?

"But that doesn't make all the things the enemy is fighting for right all of the sudden, so why does that make a difference to them?" I could already feel the topic touching some tender areas in me, though had little idea where it was going.

"A lot of people think good and evil only comes from the gods, Fidelis. Without a divine-blooded man...ordering the attacks on 'evil'...'evil' is just a victim. They see themselves as defending a victim from a victimizer."

That was a pretty powerful, and maybe presumptuous, theory. It did not seem like I could digest it immediately, yet that didn't mean it was a good time to end the conversation.

"But the people the Renrijra Krin murder, the freed slaves that are being recapture, aren't they victims too?" I felt tracely like a child trying to understand something from a grown-up, since it seemed a simple minded question, but my ignorance was genuine.

"I'm not condoning the philosophy, Fidelis," he said, and I knew that, "but to those people...a common man like Ocato declaring and fighting 'evil' is blasphemy, or 'arrogance'...bigotry maybe even..."

It was quite a hypothesis, but it didn't sound like it was from comprehensive observation so much as from personal experience. What kind of people had he associated with?

It seemed like the mood had sunk. If Rizzani was right, that meant grim things for the future...

The driver cleared his throat, probably in his own world.

"Well," the Argonian accented Lieutenant then chimed in, more energetically "it doesn't matter either way. We're not them! We've been assigned to kick tail in Elsweyr and that's what we're going to do!"

Though I liked spirit like that (especially from a native Argonian), he, probably inadvertently, got across that he did not firmly believe the Elder Council would stay supportive of the Morrowind mission. Such attitudes coming from officers sapped hope, energy, and eagerness.

Jilheen probably hadn't meant to start such a heavy (albeit brief) conversation.

Could support for our efforts in Elsweryr die down too if there wasn't another attack on Cyrodiil in a few months?

We went over another rock.

Sala-Keesh cleared his throat.

It seemed the discussion had ended, now.

I looked back at my leather shoed-feet, entering my own world of thought: Would the Elder Council really make the same mistake again in either theater? That didn't seem right. Surely there would need to be a lot more Imperial military and local deaths for them to do so, but...

What Rizzani had said still seemed worth reflecting over:

Anyone who thought like he'd claimed was clearly illogical: they didn't believe in common-blooded people condemning others as 'evil' but were willing to do so with Ocato. Of course, just because a philosophy was illogical didn't mean it was rare: war would not exist if so.

However, if memory served, Empress Katariah (a Dunmer) didn't have divine blood in her, and she didn't have an extremely hard time getting support. Although she might have come under an unusual amount of criticism, she didn't have protesters at her speeches and Diamond and Dragon banners ripped at home during her reign. At least I hadn't heard of anything like that, but I was not a history expert...

Ludovicius Ocato was not under any criticism for going to war with Thras after the Sloadic plot was discovered, though. Did that invalidate Rizzani's theory?

Yet maybe that didn't count as a 'declaration of evil' to them; defending one's self from an immediate threat, such as the Sload, was simply animal instinct.

Could Rizzani's radical idea, which had simply popped up during idle conversation, really have been right? It wasn't often I took someone else's words to heart.

But...whatever the rest of Tamriel's reason, they were still wrong. Our fights were righteous. Elsweyr awaited us, and whether we won or lost would be crucial to the definition of the new Era: one of appeasement and pseudo-nihilism, or one of conviction and heroism. Elsweyr, the place that had done so much to shape me, was waiting for us to shape it, and itself to shape the mind of the rest of the Era.


	12. Setting Up

"It is said that a hundred civilizations are buried beneath the sands of Elsweyr(...)" - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Sun's Dawn 26, 4E2

Northwest of Torval, Elsweyr

* * *

Bizarre bird calls and unidentifiable chirping filled the humid, jungle air. It remained misty from the fifteen minute shower (from what I had seen such weather was not unusual down south.)

Last I'd checked it was about five-twenty (it didn't get dark as early down here); we should have been arriving at our destination soon. The wagon was not heading to Torval, but to a remoter place where we'd set up "camp." It was a former Imperial military alchemical laboratory built into an Elsweyri ruin and abandoned after the end of the Septimian Elsweyri Rebellion, twenty-seven years ago. We were about to occupy it again.

Riding with two people higher ranked had made chatting a little awkward, but we had opened up. Sala-Keesh and Rizzani had served in Morrowind for a year each (albeit nowhere near where I was stationed). Rizzani had also been to the Imperial City at one point. Lance Corporal Jilheen-Boliineena had spent his first year of service in Riverhold, being part of a very successful rescue operation for ten kidnapped city-watch members.

Suddenly the vehicle seemed to be turning, and leaves could be heard rustling against the horse's legs.

The hideout must have been in the vicinity. The trek was about to come to its conclusion, the secret operations which I was largely credited for making possible were soon to begin!

The wheels ratted and clacked over tree roots. Getting deep off the path would provide another veil of secrecy.

How would the locals react, though, when stories of men with wings and claws fighting the guerillas started to get out? That would be interesting to follow, moreso given the fact this unit was overwhelmingly Argonians.

Would they think to link it to the opening of Black Marsh? Still, where would they go from there, since they did not know what the Hist sap was capable of?

And, with that thought, I remembered that even we had limited research on how the substance worked. That recollection brought a fleeting feeling of apprehension; still, no one would be more concerned for our safety than our superior officers.

We were still moving; the ruin was pretty far off the path, apparently.

A leaf swayed to the ground behind. This was Elsweyr, but it wasn't anything like the deserts of the North that I'd previously come to associate the province with. This was a far better environment for a clandestine operation.

Our horses slowed...to a stop.

We were here! I noticed the sounds of people ahead of us exiting onto the rainforest ground.

Our sanctuary would be the site of one of the mightiest scientific and military frontiers in recorded history!

The bench across from me creaked, and I turned to notice Rizzani propping himself up. He squeezed his way past the cargo. He was going to head for the exit, likely to brief us all on what came next!

He unlocked the exit ramp, let it drop, and got out onto the jungle floor. He then beckoned us and started walking diagonally from the wagon. My torso tightened slightly in excitement. I got up, as did those around me. I began walking. This jungle would be our new home, and the arena for so much significance.

I got to the edge and descended to the rainforest floor.

I hit the ground. The soft dirt covered in fallen pods and leaves would become familiar terrain.

Looking towards Captain Rizzani, he seemed to be heading to a clustering of the others. I would head to that gathering too.

Luck, mostly, had brought this team here, because luck, mostly, had brought the other Legionaries and I to the Argonian Royal Palace. What a treasure chest that palace had been! Tonight the fruits of our labor would really start to manifest.

I was getting close.

I got in with the group.

The mustached Redguard placed himself in front of us. "Alright men," he shouted and pointed to...a large rock "Beside that boulder is a trap door to the old ruin! Inside that ruin is the entrance to an abandoned installation of ours from before the rebellion, and we've got to refurnish it for our purposes! I want every one of you to remove cargo that might get in the way of carrying the tanks of Hist sap out and bring it down to that basement!"

He started walking in the direction of the big stone: rocks were apparently a well utilized landmark for secrets no matter where one went.

We had been given our orders. I turned back, causing Jilheen and Sala-Keesh behind to do the same (funny I was quicker on the uptake than an officer), and began towards our wagon, as did the two Argonians.

It looked like this job was rather freeform, but I wish he had told us not to get out. Still, a small bit more walking was not a big deal.

Hopefully the cargo wouldn't be very heavy.

We were getting close...

The Argonians climbed back in as this human waited behind the vehicle. There were three boxes in the way of the vats; the one closest to the ramp was rather large and slightly rectangular; it was probably the one those two would be getting.

The Lieutenant got to the side of the crate and tried to lift it experimentally. Then he signaled Jilheen to help.

Realizing I'd be in their way, I decided to step to the side. Hopefully not all the boxes would require two lifters, or this would be a much longer and more arduous job.

The Lieutenant was in the back as they exited the wagon, watching his rear as he got towards the ramp. He meticulously reversed down it until his feet touched the welcoming earth. His walking then sped up.

As they cleared away, I headed towards the transportation to do _my_ part.

A bird screeched.

Walking up the wood, there were two more boxes stacked in front of the metal vats. The containers brought back some memories of the basement laboratories, but I refocused: approaching the crates, I'd try to lift the top one (which had no handles) by myself if it was light enough.

Once there, I put my fingers under it, not sure how much it would weigh. When I lifted, it provided little resistance. _Good, whatever's in here._

I turned and began heading back. Though the box significantly obscured that which was directly ahead, I saw Jeelen and Deechana waiting out of the way, probably having already had their wagon's cargo exhausted; not in the mood to talk, I kept my eyes straight ahead and my attention on my feet as they approached the gradient.

At the edge, I went down the ramp, careful not to let gravity get the better of me. It was a steep incline, considering the things that were moving down it.

Feet back on the soil, I focused on Redguard who was standing, waiting seemingly, by the mossy rock. Everyone else around him, most of us, was holding supplies (in containers or otherwise).

Men of all different races, ones often at odds with each other, no less, would work together to deal the sharpest blow to a mortal evil I could recall. It was invigorating to consider.

There was at least one other heading with me to the Captain, and Jeelen and Deechana were walking back down the ramp behind me.

Rizzani was forcing people to wait a while considering what they were holding...although he never said they could not lay it to rest. I was lucky though, whatever was in this box.

What were we storing, I wondered idly. Beds were left behind in the installation...food seemed it would be coming from civilian sources..._clothing_ was one thing in the cargo...the equipment for transformation was no doubt stored in a box or two...standard military equipment like lockpicks, enchanted equipment, and combat based potions were no doubt in them...

The crowd was close.

I took my place in what seemed it would become the Captain's audience, apparently by the hideout entrance. The group was waiting for Deechana and Jeelen and one other, listening as their feet approached.

I'd gone into Elsweyri ruins around Dune twice, both to flush out a guerilla hideout: would these look any different? They were both of Elsweyr, but this province had been home to many civilizations.

Jeelen and Deechana were close and halted. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the remaining person arrive. Time to see the interior of our new dwelling!

The Captain crouched to open the entrance, throwing the trapdoor on its other face with an earthy thud.

He then began descending down into the old construction, quickly falling out of my awkwardly handicapped line of sight. Since I had a light load, I decided to let all the others in first.

Down there was an important place, the epicenter of an important operation. That would be where men would transform into chimera, and a deadly, mysterious threat would secretly flow from. It had been dead for twenty-seven years, but it would have a glorious rebirth.

Yet I wondered, how long before this unit could be tracked to its base here? Eventually the enemy would have to notice foreigners heading down the backwoods path so frequently...

But, being we would come and go transformed so often, we probably would not walk the paths but rather through the foliage around them to conceal ourselves. It was sort of funny to imagine a man with keenen legs and ogre arms walking down the main road out of Torval.

Back in reality, all their heads had sunk beneath the ground, and I took the que proceeded forward.

A distant monkey screeched again. Life was everywhere in a jungle, and that made it easier to conceal ours.

I was getting near.

Keeping myself on guard for the fall of the first step (that was a startle I knew well from nights back home), my foot suddenly sunk. The feeling was still a bit unpleasant, but it was done. I carefully, slowly moved to the next step, and then meticulously continued down. My comrades ahead were walking at a similar pace.

Descending, I could only see the sloping ceiling, but the sun was clearly going to become impotent at the bottom.

I was curious as to what it looked like ahead of me, but the cargo prevented satiation. Regardless, I'd get a good look at this building on the way back.

Then end of the slant in the ceiling was visible. Approaching the bottom, there was some magical green glow ahead and to the right.

Then my foot seemed to hit the floor.

I rotated towards the luminescence.

I was startled a little by the sound of some heavy stone moving...downwards from that direction. Lowering the box, I noticed a man sized slab of bricks moving into the floor. It must have been a secret door, just like in the novels; it was yet another way my life was like a storybook adventure today.

The man with the light passed through the door, fleetingly revealing he was Rizzani (it was a bit surprising he knew magic). He'd probably entered the _formerly Imperial_ part of the territory.

Like before, I'd let the others in first, even as the magical lighting moved away.

I cleared my throat. I continued waiting.

The green stopped moving, though the remaining carriers still entered. Many of them had heavier loads, though even mine now seemed to be digging into my forearms a bit.

Still, I should not have been focusing on that at a time like this; more exciting would be to see what the former alchemy lab would become: the first super-soldier creation center, fueled by my own discoveries. I'd opened up Black Marsh and now I might help win a war!

It seemed the last person had passed. I started walking to the secret entrance. For now, I was a workhorse, but it was a setup for grand things.

I turned and crossed the line into what, judging by the construction, was clearly the former Imperial base.

Captain Rizzani was the only source of light. This place probably would have been spooky if it was not for all the company here, and the fact it was soon to be blessed with a glorious mission that might turn the war.

Although, considering this was a rather dicey assignment, maybe it could still seem a little unwelcoming.

But the military wouldn't want to send us to Elsweyr only to throw us away mutated and deformed. They'd obviously wanted to keep knowledge of the Hist sap in a very small pool, so we were precious.

My feet continued across the tiled halls. It was ironic: an installation left after losing the previous war in Elsweyr might be used to win this one.

It seemed the hallway was cross shaped, and it sounded like feet far ahead were turning left as the magical light disappeared around the corner. I decided to activate mine; but since my view was already obscured, it was more for the others than me.

I watched out of the left boundaries of vision for the turn.

It sounded like the Captain was opening a creaky door. Then he said, "Put those things down wherever common sense tells you. We can move the supplies around later!"

When the corner was visible, I turned. I wasn't sure what kind of room he'd opened the door to, but I wouldd find out soon enough. It was likely a big one if all the boxes were going into it.

His light began coating my crate (his range was impressive considering he wasn't a battle-mage). I disengaged my own spell.

The top sliver of the doorway, doused in bioluminescent green, was visible. I was getting close to where the supplies could be set down, the Captain's spell almost like a lighthouse.

I turned.

The chamber revealed seemed rather large. I could see some furniture out of the corner of my eyes: things the old residents had found too big to lug out, most likely. Those ahead could be heard setting things down against the right wall. I turned towards there too, soon to be free of the box. After this, there would be heavier things lift, but progress was progress, and there could be little more thrilling to progress towards.

Getting there, I crouched down, setting the crate to rest.

Done.

Standing back up straight, my view was now unobscured. Darkness concealed most of this area; near Rizzani's light, though, a table and an oven were visible. Captain Rizzani was still by the door behind me, I realized, so I turned to him.

"Alright men," he said, "now we're going to bring down the tanks! All of them are full of Hist sap, which means they're going to be a hell of a haul! We might need three men for each! Follow me back up!"

He quickly headed out of view, apparently too much of a hardass to let our muscles have a break. Still, this would be over soon. Sorting things out might actually be nice for a change, and then...

Then our new base would be outfitted, and the wagons ready to depart, cutting us off from the outside world and beginning our role as a combat unit in Elsweyr. From there would come great things, shifting the tide of war, performing super-human feats, devastating the heinous enemy. The transformative powers were what I'd given Cyrodiil, and this technology was what might win the cause in Elsweyr!


	13. Touring Torval

"The following centuries into and including the Third Era have been times of intermittent strife among the Khajiit of Elsweyr. Successive spiritual leaders, known as Manes, occasionally brought tenuous peace to the land, but never for long. The Khajiit have found security in being absorbed into the Cyrodilic and then the Septim Empires, only to rebel against both." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Sun's Dawn 26, 4E2

North of Torval, Elsweyr

* * *

Insect chirps filled the air as the unit was walking the road to the city, Rizzani lighting the way. We could see the portals and bits of the city walls, but most naked was the top of the stone tower in the city's center; it was part of the Mane's palace, in the eye of the storm.

Ahead was the famous, and now infamous, Torval: capital of Elsweyr. It would be our battlefield soon.

The group was heading to it for dinner, to stop by an inn if the vendors of raw goods were closed. Rizzani had said we would try to get as much food as we could through hunter-gather methods (to not attract attention in the city), but right now he didn't think we should delay sating our appetites. I had the sort of hearty hunger only a long bout of work and late meal could bring (but thankfully, we didn't have to unpack all the healing potions).

A few of us had brought our swords, incase of danger on the road, but we hadn't encountered any highwaymen.

A fire fly flashed its light ahead of us.

Something else was becoming visible through the foliage to the right: fencing. There was also a human figure in metal armor.

A Legionary appeared to be standing by the fence (ignorant we were all secret agents for his side), which seemed to encase countless tall, green plants: sugarcane. How atmospheric for this war. There must have been a lot to harvest.

There was some light coming from the area too. Were people still working there, past seven o'clock?

Yes, I could hear the rustling.

The two workers I could make out were clearly Khajiiti: one the type common in Morrwind, a...Suthay-Raht, and the other appeared to be the "furry elf" kind, a... Ohmes-Raht. An Altmer was holding a lantern for them.

The enclosed area nearly stretched to the city wall, with another Imperial soldier at the South end. There was a house at the Southeast corner, with a sign too far away to read.

An additional person, with a magically glowing hand, was walking down the isles of plants. He appeared to be another High Elf.

It was probably a Summerset sugar farm, profiting from the welcoming nature of Ka'Raska and protection of our soldiers. I was observing the commrece they enjoyed first hand while their people back home were our biggest critics.

Another cat-man was walking by with a basket: he was the kind commonly seen in Cyrodiil, but I forgot what they were called. I mentally pledged to study that guide tonight or tomorrow.

We were about half-way to the end of the fence when Deechana, who was walking near and behind me, said to no one in particular, "I'm glad we didn't encounter any highwaymen. They're so bad in Cyrodiil my cousin's actually think of moving to Summerset Isle."

I felt tracely disgruntled at the mention of that again. In a low voice, figuring the workers were too far away to hear but not very concerned if they did, I pointed to the stalks and said "That's why Summerset Isle is able to do so well now: they have our military to clear the way for them here and in the Abacean, so they don't have to spend their own blood and gold on it. And then they spend the money they save pampering their people."

It _was_ a touch sickening that the province which had the least love for Cyrodiil, and which had once had the greatest navy in the world, forced us to do all its dirty work...but now that the words were out I tracely regretted them. I didn't expect to get feisty over those sort of trivialities once back in Elsweyr and now felt like a bit of an ass.

Still, there wouldn't likely be objections from this sort of company.

And there were to be none, just more mute walking. Still, perhaps I shouldn't have created an angry atmosphere.

We passed by the other Legionary. The writing on the house indeed looked Aldmeris. The Imperial Legion protected them, here and in the Abacean...and it saved the Summersets money to not bring in their own military, and it also saved them from getting blood on their hands. It was a shame the Sarius Act prevented us from adjusting foreign taxation accordingly.

But back ahead, the closed portal to Torval ahead had two guards on the ground the one on the left clutching his saber. They were both Suthay-Rahts. Their uniforms were chainmail with the exception of the helmet and the chest (which was painted brown with a mane icon on it). They had a patterned cloth drooping from the belt buckle area down to their knees and they wore no gauntlets.

The one on the right put a hand up, and said in thickly accented Cyrodilic, "Halt, sirs! We need to check your group for any known criminals before we let you in." _Tight security._

He started walking towards us and beckoned his more jittery comrade, probably a new recruit.

The guards were clearly on edge, more so than in Dune. It wasn't a pretty sign, especially when Torval still managed to be the most violent city in Tamriel. Hopefully we'd change things.

We were a bizarre enough sight as it was, but once we transformed, I realized getting in and out of the city would be tricky...there must have been another way...a secret way. _A tunnel? Another door?_

As the watchman got close, he magically lit up his hand. He got in front of the Redguard as the other Khajiit kept his hand on his sword. He inspected Rizzani's face with the callous professionalism of a healer. Were there really many human criminals in Elsweyr? Redguards, no less?

Then he seemed to be heading for me, passing by Sala-Keesh and all the other Argonians.

He got close and I stood still, green light coating peach skin as he examined me with the a stern, quizzical look. Obviously I'd check out, but it was clear that foreigners were playing no small part in Elsweyri crime.

Then he broke away from me and went to those behind, likely the interpreters (both Khajiit, at least).

As I waited, I surveyed the immediate area. To the left of the portals was a building like a large home, with a sign next to it. The sign's writing was only in Ta'agran, but its icon was clearly a Senche: the large, counter-intuitively ape-like breed of Khajiit which would sometimes offer rides on its back for pay.

Then the guard was audibly heading back towards the portals, saying, "I am sorry for your inconvenience. You may enter." He gave a broad gesture to someone up by the turrets, and suddenly the doors started opening.

This cluster of foreigners began walking to the capital's entrance. Ahead, the roads were dirt and the streets were void of civilians. There was one local watchman (or woman, it was hard to tell through the uniform) on the first visible corner who seemed to be wearing a bandanna over his face (no doubt to conceal his identity). To the right it looked like there was a building with its top floor burned off, with two other watchmen guarding it. Given its size, it was likely, or likely had been, an inn. It was one less place to dine, unfortunately. On the left was another building with a sign, though, which could be another spot to eat.

Aside from the tower and walls, Torval seemed to be completely wooden. That wasn't a good material to have shelter one in a warzone. It wasn't difficult to imagine an out of control blaze devestating the city...though upon closer inspection it did look like some of the buildings had short stone walls between them.

We were about the pass under the doorway.

As we did, the sign on the left was legible. It was written in both Cyrodilic and Ta'agran: **Weary Traveler's Inn**. Not a very creative name, but well placed.

Rizzani said, "Sala-Keesh, why don't you take half the squad in there? The rest of us will keep walking so we don't overburden the publican and can get a feel for the city!" I didn't expect that.

The Argonian turned, saying nothing, and made a sweeping gesture to those on the left side. "You five, come with me," he said.

They broke out of our gathering to walk into the establishment. I felt tracely frustrated with the Captain for delaying us, though then noticed I wasn't so hungry anymore...something else about this city made me not want to linger.

Rizzani started walking again.

The rest of us would go for the next stop. I didn't like being out on the streets of Elsweyr unarmed and unarmored, and felt a bit annoyed at Rizzani since he'd given such a flimsy reason for making us walk some more. Still, I had magic to for protection, which wasn't true of everyone here.

The mustached man seemed to be turning left, to go around the corner.

Reesaka coughed.

Turning revealed some more shops. The closest one was called "Adazzka's Defenses" with a scimitar icon below it and a boarded-up window. There was a second on the other side of the street with a clothing icon, though the sign was only in Elsweyr's native tongue.

The sidewalks ahead were empty. Even most of the shutters were closed. My previous squad hadn't seen much of Dune at night; had it been this vacant there too?

A piece of paper blew across the road.

I would be happier here armed, or at least in the daylight, but right now I was practically a civilian. Hopefully the locals didn't feel like this every time they went out at night...though few of them did venture out, evidently.

Still, with two of seven of us holding swords, we likely wouldn't get ambushed by thieves or xenophobes.

Then there was a faint clanking of metal and jingle of chainmail around the distant corner. Was it a squad on patrol?

Around came a familiar uniform: _the Imperial Legion _uniform, doused in orange light from the torch the leader was holding.

They were marching along the other sidewalk, but two were on the road: no one seemed to worry about being in the middle of the street here. Maybe it was because traffic was desolate.

They didn't know that on the same avenue were seven important secret agents.

Despite the metal feet and rattling chainmail, I heard snoring as we walked past an alley. There'd been a lot of people left homeless by the fighting in Dune, and probably here too. I'd been involved in building houses for the locals in the deserts to the north, but the guerillas would often evict residents to use their houses as bases.

As the Legion patrol passed us on the other side, I realized we'd been mute for a long time. There was an air of tension in this city.

I thought back to those who were now in the Weary Traveler's Inn. They were already indoors, likely surrounded by conversation and awaiting food and drink. They wouldn't walk these streets until they were all armed.

Our Captain began turning right as I wondered how long before this group found another place; Torval probably wasn't big on tourism these days, so there couldn't be a lot of inns.

Though there were no buildings of commerce visible yet, it look like a second corner wasn't far off, which would put us back to moving east. There were no additional guards, however. I didn't like that.

Hopefully we could lift this place out of the abyss. A lot more than this nation's capital would be saved if the Empire's plan succeeded: Cyrodiil's name would be saved, the spirit heroism would be, the belief in national salvation would be, and the Khajiit would not continue to be associated with barbarity as they tore themselves apart.

With the other corner close, my superior officer was turning again. How much longer would we need to go?

But around this corner was another sign, a beacon in the night: **This Evening Bar and Restaurant**. Good, a way off the streets.

"There's a place! Come on, men." The Redguard started crossing the read diagonally.

But to left I noticed something else. It looked like looked like the eastern wall of the city, also with a portal and guards. But Torval had to be bigger than that. It seemed worth inquiring about.

"What's that wall to the east for?"

The other human glanced at it. "The end of this district," he replied. So Torval was split up like _our_ capital. Did that design have something to do with being a capital city? I couldn't imagine what.

The Captain's feet were back on a sidewalk, and he opened the weathered door, walking in.

I entered, feeling more comfortable.

The man behind the counter was the breed of Khajiit most frequent back home. He had pallid fur and was giving a broad, grandfatherly grin.

One of our group members closed the door behind us, and then Rizzani said, "Hello, sir. We'd like to know what food you have available here." The shelves behind the bar looked somehow sparse, but I wasn't sure that reflected the availibilty of the dishes here.

"Ah, yes," said the oldman, "please, sit down. This one is very happy to have new customers!"

The Captain headed for a stool, and so did I as the owner ducked behind the bar. After hitting the cushioned seat, I looked around. There was one set of salt, pepper, and moonsugar shakers on the table. The room was poorly lit, and we were the only ones here. Hopefully the food would be decent.

Still, simply being indoors was nice.

The publican came up with a stack of menus. He began passing them out.

As soon as he put one in front of me I picked it up. It was in both Ta'agran and Cyrodilic. It was sorted according to the native Elsweyri words' alphabetical order. But it was also split into sub-categories like "Meat" and "Pasta" and "Soup." I was in the mood for soup.

I read the options for that category:

**Ataz'Raji:**

**Zalasi'vatabel vazim shucozzin noodad, ualanva, riez ro.**

**Sweetened onion stock with noodles, celery, and rice.**

**Rashir:**

**Zalasi'been vazim shucozzin karrotad tsalim, dajad podadad, riez, ualanva ro.**

**Sweetened beef broth with sliced carrots, potato chunks, rice, and celery.**

**Tasha'Arji:**

**Zalasi'been vazim shucozzin been, noodad, riez ro.**

**Sweetened beef broth with beef, noodles, and rice.**

Only three choices, and it looked like a lot of ingredients were reused. This was the sub-par world of Elsweyr: a bad economy meant fewer supplies and that meant less variety. Still, I was not discouraged from ordering soup. I ran the three items through my mind again, and decided the Rashir sounded most appealing.

I assumed they had beer but skimmed the "Drinks" section for the word just incase.

They did.

Hoping I'd pronounce the soup name correctly, I looked back up at the proprietor and said, "I'll have the Rashir soup and a beer, please," and then looked back down at the menu for some reason.

Then Rizzani gave out his exotically named order, as did Colovian-born S'Bassa (no more confidently pronounced) and, after a bit of silence, Deechana. The other three continued scanning their menus, but for me it was just time to wait.

Reflecting on my first experience in Torval, I was unsettled by the feeling I'd had just outside. When one was uneasy about walking the streets even in a large group, things were very bad. Nonetheless, at least we'd be able to help.

Tonight was our first taste of Torval, literally and figuratively. This was the capital of Elsweyr, where the Mane lived in near unparalleled luxury, but it was also torn by the ravages of war. The land of the Khajiit needed our help, and hope for the Fourth Era needed the sight of at least one province getting back up on its feet.


	14. First Mission

A/N: Originally I was going to release this chapter and chapter 15 simultaneously. Now I've decided to release this independently.

More importantly, though it pains me to say it, my work load this semester has been incredible and I think it will have to take a big toll on my writing. I must say that I'm considering dropping the hobby altoghether while school is in session. I probably won't do something that drastic, but I think I'm going to have to start seriously cutting corners with this story or slow my pace to a crawl as long as school is in session. I may be able to cut some big corners without a significant decrease in quality (because I'm often very fussy about very tiny details in my story), but I don't know. My writing has been a satisfying labor of love, but it's still labor, which strains a mind already nearly at the breaking point from academia. For that reason, don't be surprised if either my quality decreases, or I only release about one new chapter every three months (or both).

Oh, and Arty, I hope you don't precieve this as me breaking a promise. I oringally planned to release this and chapter 15 toghether, so I still plan to review your chapter 15 before releasing mine.

* * *

"The _khajiit_ attribute their improbable biology to the workings of the _ja-Kha'jay_ (the "Moonstrings," or "Lunar Lattice"), a magical and semi-divine phenomena believed to derive from the influence of Tamriel's twin moons, Masser and Secunda. According to the native tradition, a _khajiit_ born while Masser is full and Secunda a thin crescent will grow to be a _cathay-raht_, one of the aforementioned jaguar-men, while one born under the opposite conditions will be little more than an intelligent house-cat." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Sun's Dawn 27, 4E2

Subterranean Sanctuary, Near Torval

* * *

Having decided I at last felt ready to do some studying of the khajiiti breeds, this human began heading to the barracks through the dining hall.

Opening the mess hall door, the table that had hosted our breakfast an hour ago was now being used by four of my comrades, Jeelen included, to play cards.

"Hey, Fidelis, you wanna play?"

"No thanks."

Making my way to the other side, I headed for barracks entrance.

I opened it, revealing I wasn't the only one who wanted to do some quiet reading. Sergeant Inius, the Imperial-named Argonian, was sitting on another bed with a novel.

Our little bookshelf was to the left. Walking there, I didn't plan to spend very long studying: Rizzani, who'd left right after breakfast to meet "some friends", could be back any minute and I figured he might provide our first mission.

I got to the shelf, remembering the pamphlets were on the lower right, and then crouched down.

The Renrijra Krin propaganda leaflet beside the target document flashed in my thoughts, darkly tempting me to read it, but if I knew if did I wouldn't be able to concentrate on what I'd be studying.

I removed the guide to the Khajiiti forms, with its bold text and white background, and headed for the nearest bed, leaving the enemy propaganda behind.

I recalled _some_ things about the Khajiiti breeds: "Raht" meant a larger variety of a type (though sometimes "Rahts" had other variations), and knew the Suthay-Rahts were the kind most frequently born in Morrowind.

Once at the the mattress, I plopped down, then opened the document.

Now to study, to focus on text and press it into my mind, something I hadn't done since my time in Dune.

Each sub-species' name had drawing on its left. I began:

**Ohmes-Raht:**

**Similar in appearance to and size to an elf, but possessing a light coat of fur and a tail.**

**Ohmes:**

**Often mistaken for Bosmer, though frequently slightly smaller. Often used as spies where Khajiit might arouse suspicion. Many Ohmes tatto their faces to identify themselves as a member of the Khajiit race.**

**Suthay-Raht:**

**Human-sized and bipedal, but with many betmeri features. Its leg structure and head are nearly fully feline in appearance. This form does not walk in a fully upright fashion. Its hands contain claws similar to those of a feline animal. This form possesses a tail. **

**Suthay:**

**Identical to the Suthay-Raht, but smaller.**

**Cathay-Raht:**

**A form of khajiit with no fur and known for its physical strength. The average Cathay-Raht stands roughly eight feet tall. It posses a feline like head but human-like leg structure and finger nails instead of claws. It does not have a tail.**

**Cathay:**

**Identical to the Cathay-Raht, but smaller. The average Cathay stands roughly six and a half feet tall. **

Then there was a distinguished voice in the dining room. Rizzani? Was he back? Was he picking us out for an assignment? This might be my opportunity to see some action in Torval, as a Hist sap super-soldier!

Should I put down the pamphlet and wait to see if he came in?

But if I was going to be out on the field soon, that was all the more reason to study now.

**Tojay-Raht:**

**A Khajiiti form with the height and weight of a typical human, but possessing a feline head, tail, and fur. Its body structure is otherwise completely human. The most popular breed to birth in Cyrodiil and Skyrim. **

**Tojay:**

**Identical to the Tojay-Raht, but sma**

The door opened and I looked up. The Redguard Captain had walked in, with Jeelen, Ah-Marz, Sala-Keesh, and Collects-Rocks at his side. He looked at me.

"Fidelis," the mustached Colovian began, "we need another battle mage for the assignment we have planned!" (Jeelen was the first) Yes, _our_ first assignment would be _my_ first assignment. Today, I'd become a next generation warrior!

He beckoned with a hearty swoop of the hand. I stood up, mind filled with wonder. He then turned his head to his right.

"Inius, I have something else in mind for _you_, but you follow me to the transformation room nonetheless!" _So_ t_hat's what he named it._

Rizzani began walking, passing us both, clearly heading to the other door (the one nearly across from the posterior 'transformation room' entrance.)

The leaflet was set to rest on the bed as I began to follow, the Imperial-named Argonian behind me.

This was it: finally a Hist-sap mission! I would be fitted with super-human abilities, the first to receive such in the name of the Empire (unless our comrades in the other provinces had spilled some blood already)!

What could he have in mind? What parts would he use?

And on what kind of battlefield would we first utilize these biological enhancements? The city? A backwoods hideout?

He got to the door and opened it, heading for the close second (the entrance to the "transformation room"). The filled vats and countless bottles of healing potions would now find the use they'd waited for.

Inside, there were the tarp-covered vats. I'd had an unpleasant history with their kind, but the gods could turn anything into good; with the Argonian Royal Court's work stolen, those tanks would be the vehicles for justice.

Rizzani walked over to the shelf which contained the tens of tiny, labeled bottles of blood. I couldn't read the labels from here. What, and how many, creatures' blood he would use for us remained unknown.

He had picked out several...eight from the vast selection very deftly and then pulled an additional bottle out of his pouch. He divided them all up 3-3-1-1-1, and then turned.

He started walking to the other side of the room for...those target stands that had been used at Fort Homestead, the 'tables' which could be raised and lowered. Someone's arms would likely get reconstructed at the same time as his lower body, just like mine at the Heartland fortress.

He picked one up with each hand, and then briskly took them over to one of the vats.

We'd soon get used to these kind of proceedures.

He placed them in a row extending straight from one side. After that, he perkily walked back to get more. He'd probably been planning how to do this, whatever it was exactly, his whole trek back. He seemed to have no reluctance to proceed with transforming us. _I_ felt some apprehension.

He returned another couple of stands and put them, in an identical manner, on the opposite side. Whatever he'd planned on doing seemed to require significant prowess with one's spacial imagination.

Next he started heading across the room, to...the heap of buckets and tubs. I recalled my part, with Jilheen, in taking the variously shaped and sized metal containers from the boxes and putting them in that pile.

He began sorting through the metal recipticals. "Not all of these transformations are going to be standard sit-and-stew exercises," he said, plucking out two pails like the ones the Argonian Royal Court had used to transform my hands. He then put them close together on the floor as if for future reference. "If we're going to be fast, we have to be creative!" He was eager, but my worry was beginning to rival _my_ eagerness as the memories of the Argonian Royal Palace basement seeped back in.

He picked out another bucket (with a large scratch on it) and put it in a place distinct the first two. Then he began dragging out two oblong, arm-length tubs. They were going to do a lot with one (or possibly all) of us.

"Rocks, go get that scratched pail and set it down near me." The Captain was heading for the vat and the Argonian immediately broke from his place to get the scarred receptacle.

I wondered whether they felt less apprehensive about the Hist sap from lacking first hand experience.

Rizzani came back and dropped the tubs callously on the stone floor. Then he lifted one up and set it across the table. He went for the next one. He did the same with it as the young Argonian came back with the bucket and set it on the floor.

Then the Redguard took the tarp off the main container.

The opened vat: a sight that had proceeded my harming in the hands of the Argonian Royal Court...and my healing at the hands of my brothers in cause.

The Captain looked at me. "This one's going to be for you, Fidelis! We're going to give you wings!" Then he turned his head slightly. "Same for you, Jeelen."

Wings? Would this human really be able to fly? Wouldn't I have to practice a lot first? My mind started rushing with pleasant and unpleasant thoughts as the officer went off to some other part of the room. Wings would be a radical change, but imaging three dimensions of freedom was enthralling! Flight in absence of rigorous magical training: that would be a great thing the Hist sap could bring humanity!

I turned to see he was putting on gloves.

He headed back in the direction of the vat. What would come next? But then it was clear he was aiming for the scratched bucket.

He grabbed it, turned back to the now tarpless metal behemoth, and motioned Collects-Rocks to stay away.

The human began dipping the pail into the yellow goo, to pour it in the elevated tubs. Without looking up, he said, "Marz, Fidelis, bring over another pair of intensifiers." I was to take part setting up my own bold reshaping.

Complying, I began power-walking to the table the others had put the extra magicka-intensifiers on, while still wondering whether I'd soon be able to fly. I couldn't change what they would do to me, orders were orders, but I decided to ask the Captain what exactly he intended the wings for once I'd delivered the device.

Getting close to the table, I figured it was clear to both Ah-Marz and I which one this Lance Corporal would grab.

I picked up my target. It was the first time I'd touched one these imposing metal contraptions.

Turning, it seemed similarly clear on which table-set I'd place mine.

The Captain was out of view, and it sounded like he was going through the pile of metal containers again. I got close to the target couple of tables and set down the machine.

Again hearing something grinding against the stone floor, I turned to see the man dragging a very large tub. This was going to be a sophisticated procedure.

As he dragged it, I decided to ask about the wings:

"What capacities will the wings give me, sir?"

His expression remained neutral, but he answered. "They should be able to slow your fall when you jump down from a high height." He let go of the handle on the metal vessel, causing it clatter to the floor. I wouldn't get to fly yet, but...

"Should?" Would he really be reckless enough not to test the theory?

"We'll let you try it on one of the trees topside first. The sample we got for your wings was from an Argonian tribe I think you worked with: the Keseepa. They have wings on their arms and we're going to make you and Jeelen like _them_!"

The memories of them and the palace raid, my long-awaited rescue, came back. Yes, I remembered the odd growth on their arms, but to call them wings was a stretch...That meant the change wouldn't be too radical physiologically, though. While I was disappointed I wouldn't be able to fly (yet, at least), I was more comfortable with using the Keseepa genes than that of a hackwing. But what else did he have in mind for me?

The man was now dipping the bucket in the vat again, then...pouring it into the large, newly brought over tub.

It wasn't normal to ask a lot of questions from a superior officer, as this was a fatalistic business, but perhaps emboldened by the last, I decided to ask, "So, what exactly are you going to do to me, sir?" Then realizing that sounded almost fearful and accusatory, amended it to, "How are you going to modify my body, I mean?" Did that really sound any better?

He didn't answer immediately, but soon replied, "You're going to get wings, claws, and monkey feet! You should be a fine monster in two and a half hours!" They sure had sped the process up. But...

"Monkey feet?" What could I do with those?

"Igma feet, to be precise. The 'ape-men' that live in Valenwood and a few of them here. When we're done, it'll be like you've got four hands!" _Igma._ What did he want me to do, hold four swords at once?

The ape-men of Valenwood would use their feet to swing from branches...was I supposed to be up in a tree for this mission? There was still a lot in his head that hadn't made it out.

Presumably the claws he'd referenced were hackwing claws, which I'd used to scale the Argonian Royal Palace's wall. Maybe I could use them to climb up to high branches, and then...what? Hang by my feet? It _might_ actually provide a good way to magically snipe at hostiles. And then I'd retreat quickly from the tree using my wings! Yes, that came together nicely.

But still, all these changes meant we were putting a lot of faith in the jeopardous goo, and I would be the canary in the coal mine.

"What about me, sir?" Rocks inquired. Maybe I'd started something by asking two questions already.

"You and Ah-Marz are going to be made part ogre. You should have arms strong enough to wield claymores like shortswords!"

We would become quite a crowd! This unit was going into this Hist sap super-soldier business head-first. No doubt everyone in this room would remember this day well. I just hoped Rizzani fully understood what he was getting us into.

"I'd like to know what plan you have for me too, sir," Sergeant Inius stated.

"Inius, _your_ assignment is different! We're going to disguise you as a well known gangster and let you infiltrate a Rasarji'ad hide-out!"

Wow, the Argonian was going to become a full Khajiit.

Would Sala-Keesh get transformed to, or would he just watch over my group?

But we'd probably asked enough.

Ah-Marz cleared his throat.

As the Colovian continued bailing the sap into the bucket, I reflected on what would soon be done to my limbs. This was a new frontier, full of potential, but dangerous. We were planning to use Hist sap to transform ourselves after only several months of research. That seemed unusually gung-ho, and one could vaguely imagine some grotesque consequences.

We might be lab-rats to an extent, just like my group in Black Marsh. But high command and I both had the same goal: to win this war in Elsweyr. I would do what they asked.

The Captain continued emptying the vat. There was a lot of sap in the main container to begin with, and clearly a lot he wanted removed.

Beyond the noise of that activity, there was only silence.

"Well," the Nibenean accented Marz began idly, "the Renrijra Krin'll be in for a surprise." _I bet_. It wasn't everyday one saw an Imperial with wings, claws, and ape feet.

"It's not the Renrijra Krin we're assaulting this time, soldier. We're attacking the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction at one of their wilderness outposts!" The Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction: Elsweyr's other major rebel organization, which was formed _after_ the Oblivion Crisis. They were less fanatical and brutal than the Krin, but still part of the enemy.

A backwoods outpost was a good target for a clandestine weapon. Likely no one who saw us would live to tell tales, so our secrets would remain sealed. Still, it would be fascinating (albeit macabre) to know what their last thoughts would be. If one escaped, he'd probably be thought mad.

Fighting with these new parts would be a vastly different experience for _us_ too. I'd been trained to chop and stab with sword and shoot frigid air from the hand, but never to glide on a pair of wings or hang from a tree by my feet. I'd scaled a wooden surface with claws once before, but to dangle from a branch like a monkey, and to start my assault from high in a tree...

Hopefully Rizzani didn't underestimate how much practice one would need to effectively use new parts like these. If practice was necessary for their intended functions, its absence would prove disasterous on the mission.

But that was assuming the parts would work right. The Hist sap had not been studied for even half a year by the Imperial government. I felt there was room for unpleasant surprises. My superiors knew best, but I had a nagging worry they did not expect these biological alterations to all go perfectly.

Thinking, in seriousness, about going back in the substance, to have my muscles and bones reworked again at the mercy of this liquid, made my torso feel tracely tighter.

As the Captain bailed, the Hist resin looked vaguely sinister, as if it might be hiding a secret malice. The top of the uncovered vat reminded me of the mouth of an animal. My mind came back to the Argonian Royal Court's experiments.

I'd agreed to put my life in the Imperial military's hands, I would do this, but the time I would spend in with the sap was starting to feel a little like it could be its own crucible.


	15. Super Soldiers

"I was invited to join with a small colony of Imga monkeys, who alone could gather these succulent little mice. Because they lived only on the slenderest branches of the trees, and only on the ends of those same branches, the Imga had to climb beneath them and jump up to 'pick' the Kollopi from their perches. Imga are, of course, naturally dexterous(...)" - The Red Kitchen Reader

Sun's Dawn 27, 4E2

North of Subterranean Sanctuary, Near Torval

* * *

The bugs and birds chirped as I hung from a tree branch by my feet, the enemy's hide-out shack ahead and below. My head was, perhaps, twenty five feet from the ground. The flimsy looking thing was about twenty away. Three guerillas were scheduled to arrive and knock on its door soon. Inside, there were supposedly three more hostiles, but the shutters were closed. The area around the house was mostly clear of trees, which would make landing easy when that time came.

Rizzani said command believed there were important documents in the safe house, which was part of the reason we had been dispatched: a normal group of Imperial Legionaries would probably have to burn the building once the hostiles took cover, but we were a more elite type of soldier now.

Jeelen was hanging from the right side: He was northward, and I southward. My three comrades were hiding in various bushes. To the right, I could see one of my ogre-armed accomplices, Ah-Marz, waiting. The others weren't visible.

This was our first assignment as super-soldiers. I'd practiced with the new parts, and they should work, and this was a beginning in a new chapter of my career. I anticipated the coming combat eagerly, veins prepared to channel magicka and the battle mage standard issue, silver shortsword at the ready in my clawed hand for the eventual combat on the ground.

We'd all conquered the Hist sap smoothly. This squad's members had become rather grotesque sights, but saw mostly humor in such. The wings had worked surprisingly well, and it seemed this bizarre plan might indeed pan out. The whole squad was excited to use our new abilities against the enemy.

This Imperial was to initiate things, to fire the first shot, when the expected crowd came to the shack. It was just before noon, so they should have been arriving around this time.

My face was puffy with excess blood. I'd occasionally and briefly relieved myself of this position. Still, it was an easy discomfort to ignore at this time: this, a time of some many firsts.

Then leaves crunched, signaling a few sets of feet to the west! That was the break in the soundscape I had been waiting for! This was the group to be ambushed. I would not see them for still a little while yet, but soon one would feel frozen air on his back.

As the footsteps approached, my body began sizzling with excitement. Today would host my first combat since returning to Elsweyr, and the first Hist sap soldier utilization.

They were nearly right below and almost in view. My chest felt tighter, and there was light, sweet sensation flowing through my bones.

They crossed into my line of sight, first just furry blurs, then...

The three we had awaited, all with a weapon at hilt and bedroll strapped on back and sleeveless or short-sleeved garments. Leftmost was a small, almost monkey like Dagi-Raht with a shortsword. At the center was a slightly bigger, hooded Suthay with a longsword. And finally was a female Tojay-Raht with a crossbow: a ranged weapon. She deserved the electricity, not my superficial spell effect.

I looked to Jeelen, who had looked to me too. Though burgeoning friends off duty, I was the Private's superior right now. I whispered, "You take the girl." He nodded.

The guerillas walked in content ignorance, but soon they would be enveloped by terror.

I decided I would shoot for the Dagi-Raht.

I began to take aim, while mentally priming for the complex equations and magical motions used. A spell I had started learning for civilian work was now deeply ingrained with my life in the military, soon to be more so.

Then I was ready to send the energy through my arm.

It was time. I would initiate the ambush.

Aiming a bit ahead of the guerilla, with deft mental processing I shot the frigid air towards the Dagi-Raht, nigh instantly followed by another magical projection from Jeelen at the female.

My muscles and mind tightened as the spells flew.

The hypothermal cluster hit the Dagi-Raht in the neck.

He cried pain as he dropped to his knees, dropped his weapon and clutched the spot (where I had hopefully caused some spinal damage). Jeelen's hit the female where neck met shoulder, making her quiver and fall face-down like a ragdoll as the deadly jolts coursed through her veins.

The Suthay, the one unharmed, was panicking now, frantically looking around. Surely he wouldn't suspect the canopies to be the source of the attack. He screamed to the ones in the house as my reserves recharged.

The Khajiit had no idea where the shots had come from. _Poor bastard._

I cast another ball of frigid air.

The guerilla finally looked up, in horror at the projectile. Jeelen let loose his own magic as it flew. Time seemed to slow down: the door also opened a sliver, only to allow an occupant see it was too late for the Suthay.

That rebel's chest was hit with my spell, causing him to stumble back, shortly followed Jeelen's lightening, which delivered the kill.

The door was shut in panic. I felt a flash of envy for not having studied Electrical Projection.

The Dagi-Raht still needed to be finished, though, I recalled. I looked to him.

He was in the midst of picking himself up, sword dropped, staggering to the door groaning. Magic was a cruel weapon, not a sissy's toy as many thought. The people inside were probably wondering whether to open it again for him. In a second I would have enough to make their decision easier.

I began aiming, leading his head.

Then I cast.

The incoming icy blast would bring him closer to death. As the magic crystallized the humidity it passed through, it looked like the cloud and his flesh were definitely going to meet.

Indeed, the hypothermal air hit the side of his face, causing him to grasp it and fall screaming. Using such a weapon was coarse on the soul, but hopefully Jeelen would be able to end his misery soon. He, however, probably still needed to recharge his body's stores.

I aimed another shot for the Khajiit's neck, hoping to damage to major veins and speed up death.

I lined up my hand.

I fired.

As the cold flew past the branches and trunks, crystallizing the jungle air it touched, it looked like the magic and flesh were going to fall into place again.

It hit.

The guerilla shortly collapsed onto the forest floor, unconscious if not dead. Good, finally out of his misery.

The three outside the shack were pacified. Next would come a less cruel kind of attacking. The next step, however, wasn't clear. Entering the building would force us to funnel through a single door.

For now it was just time to hang and wait for Lieutenant Sala-Keesh's orders.

But then something changed on the house. The shutters to both windows opened, one enemy combatant at each! One spotted me nigh instantly and screamed something. We needed to detach!

I sprang from the branch, aiming for the area behind the house. Private Jeelen must have done the same.

I heard the bolt and magic fire futilely as I exited the angle of attack. Safety. Yes. Now just to make it to the ground.

Heading down steeply, I rotated my arms to provide maximum air resistance. I had landed safely during practice. I just had to do it again. I was close, seeing the sticks, dark soil, and thick green leaves.

I hit the dirt, burying my hackwing talons into the earth and dirtying my cheek.

A safe landing, just like in practice. I propped myself onto hands and knees.

Jeelen landed.

The shutters closed.

The opposition must have been thoroughly baffled by our nature, but one could gather they were now ready to meet us at the door. I still hadn't begun to imagine what our next step was, but certainly we'd want to gather in front of the house first.

"Converge!" I heard Lieutenant Sala-Keesh call, finally giving orders.

Then came the sounds of Collects-Rocks and Ah-Marz feet, moving out of their hiding places.

I stood my self up. I stabilized, as did Jeelen. Now began part two of this assignment, a phase with very different dynamics.

I began running to the other side to meet them, keeping on mission, expecting the Private to head around the other way. We would all be together for this part of the assault.

A brief view of the windows, before pressing myself to the front wall, made it appear they were indeed shut.

Pressed against the wood, I saw Jeelen arrive. He then ducked under the window to move to the space next to the door, making room for the incoming Ah-Marz. A good idea. I'd do the same for my counter-part Collects-Rocks, my friend's action an inaudible communication.

As the ogre-armed Argonians slowed, this was certainly an odd gathering. What could be going through the heads of the hostiles right now?

Our two freakish comrades' feet stopped pounding the soil as they pressed themselves against our former spots.

"They're locked in there, I guess," Collects-Rocks said, voice somewhat deepened and distorted by his transformation, which had affected about half his upper torso.

From the west, the clean, untransformed soldier came out from his spot, jogging towards us at an angle slightly to my left. I was curious as to what the officer planned to do from here. A direct assault would be dangerous, but the target area was so small that there seemed no other options.

I could hear the guerillas inside chattering. I fleetingly wondered if there was any useful intelligence we could have gathered from their conversation if we had brought an interpreter.

A monkey screamed somewhere in the distance.

Sala-Keesh got close. The Lieutenant looked like he was going to take cover left of Collects-Rocks.

Indeed, he slowed to a stop in that area. Then he immediately started fiddling with his pouch.

The Black Marsh native took out a bottle, tore off the cork with his teeth, spit it onto the ground, and began chugging. My best guess was it was a "Detect Life" potion.

I looked back westward as I waited, and then heard him finish with a gasp for breath. Then there was silence.

Ah-Marz coughed.

There was more silence. He was examining the position of the three hostiles I assumed, and any second would provide intelligence to us. I began to anticipate his report.

"Fidelis, move away from that spot. Come next to me." Wondering what he had planned, I did, breaking away, and heading for the other side of the native Argonian.

I got next to the Lieutenant and settled there. "Rocks," he addressed the soldier in a low voice, "it's time for you to live up to your name. Take that mossy stone by that tree stump, haul it close, and throw it through the spot Fidelis was just at! You'll be able to take out one of their men."

The walls looked thin, but would that really work?

Collects-Rocks began jogging towards the mud-crab sized stone. The officer simply watched, apparently confident no one would open the windows again. He was a superior, so his confidence warranted mine. Nonetheless, I could not help worrying about the occupants of the house and those windows.

The Private got to the stone and picked it up, and then started turning more laboriously; his legs' strength was not enhanced like his arms, so the rock was still being quite a burden. He began walking back rather awkwardly. If the enemy opened the shutters he would be a sitting duck. Hopefully Leutinant Sala-Keesh's prediction was right.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves.

A bird cried.

Collects-Rocks' journey back was steady. His face was expressionless. If the enemy had not opened the shutters yet, it seemed they would not ever.

I just wondered if Lieutenant Sala-Keesh's plan would work. This would be an important test of the abilities we were or were not endowed with.

Then the Argonian was close to my former spot. He stopped. It appeared he was ready to throw.

He carefully, making sure his legs could hold the momentum, swung the rock back and forth, preparing for the toss that would provide us with a critical piece of data on our capabilities.

And the rock flew from his hands. The large stone blurred through the air and crashed furiously through the wood.

Inside someone hit the floor with a sickening muffled crack and scream, emanating with clarity through the new hole. Then came the sounds of panic and chaos.

It had worked, as alien as the plan seemed. We had a resourceful leader on our side.

The Private had pressed himself back against his previous spot as the audible panic of a male and female guerilla continued, now coming from deeper within the shack. The Hist sap augmentations were making us a very frightening foe. Nothing like us had ever before existed in wartime.

The two voices quieted.

Then Lieutenant Sala-Keesh simply broke from his place. He was heading to the new hole. His experience really gave him a confident sense of when he was not in danger. He brazenly peaked through the breach, his check thorough and apparently fearless.

He stepped back.

"We can't get any good angle on them yet. We need to get inside, but I know they've already taken optimal positions for our entrance!" There were only two left, they were obviously going to lose the battle, but we still could take casualties if we didn't handle this intelligently.

The officer began thinking. It was, ironically, simple situations like this which often seemed the most unfortunate.

A monkey screamed.

The two remaining enemies could be heard again. I almost pitied them for the state of confusion they must have found themselves in, knowing they were at the spear-head of some new, terrifying Imperial weapon.

"Collects-Rocks," Leutinant Sala-Keesh began, "check if the door's locked! If it is, pick it, but do not open and enter! Once it's confirmed to be unlocked, I'll provide further instructions! Understood?"

I looked towards the Private. "Yes sir." What had Sala-Keesh thought of now?

The Private made his way to the door, its handle on his (and my) side.

The Argonian arrived, putting the door just in arms reach, paused for a second as we both worried a little, and gently tried to pull it. No results. Then the soldier pulled a bit harder. Nothing.

It was clearly locked. According to Sala-Keesh's orders, he was to pick it.

The Private reached into his pouch and took out one. He inserted it and began fiddling. Could the guerillas inside hear the metallic rustling?

He finished quickly, withdrew the pick, and left the door otherwise perfectly as it was, then looked over at the Lieutenant with expectant (and tracely fearful) eyes.

Leutinant Sala-Keesh began in a low voice again. "Alright, Private, now you're going to see if you can rip that thing off its hinges from Private Jeelen's side! After that, I want you to advance to the North corner _inside_ the house, where Ah-Marz is standing, but on the opposite side of the wall! You'll use the door as a shield!" The officer really was enthusiastic and confident about our new capabilities! "It'll distract the two remaining occupants, and allow Jeelen and Fidelis to get some good shots at them, while you're safe behind the wood." _Jeelen and Fidelis. _We would once again be the spear-head in this assignment.

"Are you sure that will work, sir?" the Colovian Argonian objected. Leutinant Sala-Keesh really did seem to be trying to milk these biological enhancements dry.

"Nothing's certain in an operation like this, Rocks. Try to rip it off, and if you succeed, I'll give the battle mages their positions and you an 'all-clear'!" Then he commanded "Jeelen, move out of the way!"

Jeelen complied, no doubt interested, like me, to see the impending results.

Collects-Rocks got in position. He grabbed the handle, paused for a second. Realizing the pointlessness of his delay, he then opened it to Jeelen's former spot in a vicious blur. I thought perhaps the enemies might start firing in alarm then...but they were more disciplined than I had expected.

Either way, Collects-Rocks was clearly safe for now.

The Colovian began pulling with ogre arms, feet planted in the ground with surprising firmness. With a strained expression he tugged, putting all his effort into his incredible muscles.

I thought I could hear the wood splintering. This might well work. But how gracefully would this end?

In a burst of chaos the door disconnected from its hinges. The Argonian fell onto his back with the wooden slab, which might have smacked him in the face.

As I looked at Collects-Rocks, unsure of his status...he appeared fine, if a little shaken.

A better cause for worry, however, was approaching as the soldier would soon head into enemy territory with that as his only defense. The unfortunate Private propped himself up with one hand.

He then adjusted the wood in front of him, turning it into a bizarre shield. He must have been a bit worried to charge into the enemy dwelling like this, but there was no reason it shouldn't work I could yet think of.

"Alright, Rocks! Hold it out farther in front of you, so the...there, perfect! Now get by the door!" he commanded. "Jeelen, you get ready to lean out and expose yourself to the enemy when I give the okay! Fidelis, you go by that mossy log, so that you can present yourself to the bastards once ordered!" I looked over to where he was pointing as he continued, "I will provide two cues! The first 'go' signals Private Rocks to move, the second signals you mages to get in position and open fire!"

I moved to the log, feeling my mind and body prime. In the coming minute, I would use my powers again, albeit this time the advantage of hiding in the canopies.

I got in place and turned.

"Are you ready, men?" I'd been similar scenarios several times before. I gave a 'yes.'

Ah-Marz did too, followed by Jeelen and then Collects-Rocks. It was Jeelen, Collects-Rocks, and I who would be at all the risk, so there was some pride in the fact I had answered first.

"Remember, first 'go' means action from Rocks, second 'go' means action from the mages!"

I brushed through the mental procedures of the spell, about to put my government-funded training and Arcane University studies to work.

"Go!" came. That was the door carrier's signal. The next one was for us.

As the odd sight of shielded Collects-Rocks advanced, my mind pressed itself against this current time with brotherly empathy.

He passed through where the door had been. I heard a crossbow bolt and spell discharge. I clung tightly as I waited to see if the bolt might harm him somehow.

The bolt penetrated the door, but not him. He remained unharmed. Good. But my part could be any instant.

"Go!"

The command.

I jumped to my intended position mechanically. But now I was in the place of vulnerability and offensive potential.

At first I saw nothing...Jeelen and his opponent could already be heard exchanging hostilities.

Then the crossbow guerilla came out, looking to where Jeelen had emerged. The precious element of surprise was mine only for these couple of seconds. I breezed through the cognitive necessities and cast.

Freezing air flying, the Suthay-Raht noticed the third threat.

I leapt back.

He was out of view now, but I heard a yelp, followed by a rapidly and loudly discharged string of foreign words.

But he had not clattered to the ground. He was not done with, just singed. I still had to finish this, the element of surprise having not won the battle. _Damn._

The Colovian Private was probably safe now, but more focus would be on Jeelen and I. I had been in several duels like this during my career, and did not like them one bit.

But then there was a crash and clamor sounding from the location of Jeelen's opponent.

Jeelen's target had been dispatched easily, an almost humorously quick bit of relief for me. Now we could both focus the crossbow man.

Currently the Private was pressed to the wall again, letting his pores absorb ambient magicka.

But could I use the reload time of the crossbow to my advantage here? If I could charge him after he fired another shot, gauging from my experience in Vvardenfell I would have enough time to get within striking range. Yes, a path to victory had quickly become clear, easy and non-threatening.

"I think I can charge him," I said to Leutinant Sala-Keesh. I have to would expose myself again, but this time without having to put any mental energy into my own attack.

"Permission granted, Lance Corporal."

The last enemy would fall soon, by my hand: I needed only get him to fire, step from the projectile's path, and run in. I felt the strength in the muscles of my legs and sword wielding arm which, rather than the magicka in my veins, would finish the skirmish.

The plan was all ready for execution. All it was waiting for was my will. It might aswell start now.

I broke the stagnancy and leapt into the line of fire.

He hadn't himself arrived on the scene. As I waited for the stillness to break, my mind pressed on my surroundings for the impending change in the sensory world.

The Khajiit came out. I stood with iron feet for the split second as his aim found me. I stared into the orange body and sharp end of the bolt, needing perhaps a quarter second more.

The instant that tip came forward with the sound I knew, I leapt to the side again.

The bolt buzzed through the doorway and blurred through the Elsweyri air.

It pegged itself into a tree, marking his final mistake. A deadly projectile had become a symbol of his patheticness. Now he would witness a real attack.

I sprinted, feet pounding soil and leaves, shortsword in front of me, awaiting flesh.

Then I crossed into the interior world and my feet pounded timber, past a blur of furniture, to circumvent the obstruction he hid behind. His last mistake, his damning foolishness, had already been made.

Coming around the corner presented the guerilla, wide-eyed.

The rebel had abandoned his effort to load his bow and swung it like a cudgel. I intercepted it with my sword. As metal and wood were intertwined, stalemating us to an untrained observer, I saw his classic weakness of an exposed stomach: his damning incompetence, a manifestation of his poor training.

I kicked the guerilla hard in the navel with my imga feet.

He buckled over. My sword was liberated. My path to victory, his to death, was now clean, easy, and clear.

I stabbed the weapon down through his neck.

Metal in enemy flesh, he let out a gargling yell as he surrendered completely to gravity. He fell down forward as I stepped back. His face hit the floor.

His life of hiding and fighting was silenced. I withdrew the weapon as a pool of blood started forming under his neck. This was hideout finally cleansed and at peace. Victory. I'd done the final blow.

The carnage was over, and the Hist sap super-soldiers had been well tested. Back at base, no doubt Rizzani would be extremely pleased by the results once we reported.

My brow was moist as 'combat-mode' began to slowly dissolve from me.

I looked to the entrance as Leutinant Sala-Keesh walked in confidently, sword at the low.

It had required ingenuity, risk, and a bit of fortitude, but we'd cleared out the sanctuary with none of our own casualties. The Argonian native surveyed the results with gleaming eyes. "Good work, men!" Then, stepping in further and continuing to look around, added, "we want to get every document out of this house! They should provide us with more targets, just like this one!"

The guerillas lying about had met their ends without understanding what they had faced, but the Imperial military had now been clearly shown the worth of the Hist sap modifications. We had proved this super-soldier program, and this secret unit, could really make a difference in Elsweyr.

This was only the beginning. I could feel now that the sap might shift the tide of this war.


	16. War Optimism

"In the early First Era, there were sixteen independent realms in Elsweyr. Unlike typical human and elvish kingdoms, these regions did not compete with one another for land and power. Earlier versions of this Guide spoke of tribal conflict, but the truth was quite the opposite in the earliest Khajiit society. Recognizing their own idiosyncratic characters and strengths, each territory specialized in one specific duty, supplying its neighbors with its bounty in exchange for equal measure(…) But the terrible Thrassian Plague of 1E 2260 finally upset this balance forever. Traveling down the trade routes into the heart of Elsweyr, the plague decimated the Khajiit, forcing the survivors into roles they did not choose." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

First Seed 3, 4E2

Subterranean Sanctuary, Near Torval**

* * *

**

Staring at the back of our dimly lit barracks, my mind was running over this last week. I had returned to Elsweyr, just like I had hoped (albeit in a very different environment); Zaheen and Cicero's blood was spilled in sand, but it would be avenged in the dirt, at the hands of the Empire's clandestine but terrifying new weapon.

I had not been picked for another assignment since the first, but Jeelen had told me quite enthusiastically about his last: he had been given claws and keenen legs to scale a building in the city and ambush some guerillas on the roof. He greatly enjoyed being endowed with such. To enter the city in his state he'd had to be taken through a secret tunnel, apparently known only to high ranking members of the Elsweyri government and those they chose to bestow the knowledge upon.

No doubt a lot of rebels met their ends in confusion this past week. I just wondered how long until rumors of us, half-human monsters jumping out of the shadows to strike down enemies of the Empire, started spreading.

It was really the odd mix of Renrijra Krin genius and stupidity that had allowed this vengeance-seeking soldier to come back. It seemed almost surreal what had happened, yet that far away reached event at Fort Nomore reached me in full force. I felt a little embarrassed at how I had reacted to the news of the tragedy now though, even if no one had seen it. It was grotesque to smile at such a thing, but what a colossal difference it had made for the conflict!

I turned over in the bed.

Perhaps an ironic side-effect of getting this special role in the war was the long stretches of boredom it brought. In previous theaters patrols had kept this Imperial occupied (even if unpleasantly), but given our presence here was secret, we didn't do those.

It was also funny I, the opener of Black Marsh, was bored. Of course, no amount of fame could guarantee every waking hour be exciting, but it was nonetheless odd to think the now famous Densius Fidelis was a victim of ennui. Being able to use creature parts still carried some novelty, but missions were evidently infrequent.

I turned again, the bed whining, once more viewing the many rows of bunks.

Our two interpreters, S'Bassa and S'Nirem, were both in the adjacent room, the dining hall, playing Six-Down. Though that might have been a refreshing change from Jeelen's constant games of Hot Kings, I never felt I could relate to those two much. S'Bassa was a Colovian and S'Nirem had lived in Cyrodiil for more of his years than not, but they were a lot older than the rest of us, so I felt awkward getting right in on their group.

Then came the muffled sound of a door opening, from the dining room. Footsteps followed; they were quick, snappy, confident footsteps: Rizzani's. We would not have a mission, but he might be coming in here.

Either way, I would not face his direction.

His feet arrived at the entrance, and then it opened behind me. But I did not show any heed, even when my mind was on nothing else. The Captain seemed to be heading to the book shelf, meaning he would come right abaft.

Arriving there, he gently placed something on it. Then he halted for a second. I had a feeling he was looking at this Lance Corporal.

"Bored, Fidelis?" the Redguard said loudly, voice unadjusted to the fact that I could have been looking for quiet.

"A bit, sir," this Imperial said.

Then he began walking back out. I wondered what the point of that question was.

He closed the entrance again, leaving me once more alone...except the man had left something new here. Ready to grab onto any point of interest, I decided to turn back over, to see what was now on the shelf.

Doing so revealed a stack of papers. Newsletters from abroad, collected from Lelles' outpost? This might have been a relatively good opportunity to get mentally occupied.

I sat up and whirled myself around. I stood and looked at what was on top.

A Black Horse Courier article was, titled **KHAJIIT ENJOY NEW LIBERTY UNDER K'RASKA**.

It looked like the Courier was back on our side. That was heartening. I picked it up and went back to the mattress to sit.

**In Cyrodiil, we take guilds for granted. These treasured institutions have provided people across Tamriel with jobs and services at modest and reliable prices, and trained young apprentices in their passions. Today, the people of Elsweyr are experiencing this blessing again!**

**After the Septimian Rebellion in Elsweyr nearly thirty years ago guilds, like nearly all foreign businesses, were banned from the province by the tyrannical and intolerant K'Dira. Today, K'Dira's successor, K'Raska, has welcomed commerce and prosperity in Elsweyr. Guilds such as the Tailors, Healers, Tinkers, and Fighters have already constructed outposts in the various cities of the country. But more than any other Guild, the Mages Guild has made its presence known to the Elsweyri people.**

**Young Rimmen resident Ayisha says the institution is today helping her fulfill her dreams.**

**"I remember when I was only eight my father hired a sorcerer for my birthday party. He summoned atronachs, and turned himself invisible, and floated through the air, and ever since then I've wanted to dazzle people the same way!" **

**Elsweyr has not produced many well-known mages in its past, and even the province's most famous wizard, M'Dazzir The Unpleasant, disappeared to seclude himself early in life, leaving nearly all of his work lost to scholars, and his legacy remembered only through accounts of spectacle. But, with young enthusiasts like Ayisha taking advantage of civilization's fruits, Elsweyr may see the rise of a great mage again!**

It was nice to see the press say something positive about this province, even if it was poorly written and fluffy as most Black Horse Courier articles. The land of the Khajiit, through blood, sweat, and toil, would see a new day.

I got back up to put the piece of parchment to the side and looked at the article below. As I did the door opened again, but I paid the new visitor little attention.

**The Fourth Era Pundit**

The words jumped out and immediately caused me to fling the piece of paper to other stack and avert my eyes as to not absorb any of the infectious words. That newsletter was an arch-nemesis of mine. One day this brain would be capable of taking in oppositional politics without getting lost in them, but not yet.

The next item was titled from Cyrodiil Weekly, titled **Terrorist Organization named **'**The Natives' Worries Citizens of County Skingrad.** Even if it was about my home, such a broad title made it sound like a weak article. I placed that too on the new stack, as the Argonian arrived in the corner of my eye.

The next one was a newsletter from "Tamriel Now", who I had never before heard of, and read **Skingrad Chapel's Charity Drive Reaches Riverhold, Elsweyr as Imperial Legion Humanitarian Aid**. It appeared my comrade had turned to read that title too.

"I toured in Riverhold." Nibenean, it was the voice of Jilheen-Boliineena, probably similarly bored and trying to make conversation. "Our first Captain was really into that sort of propagandistic bullshit."

Referring to humanitarian work as "propagandistic bullshit" was an unpleasant thing to hear. It was always disheartening when a Legionary talked like that.

He moved to the chair next to the shelf, sat down, and sighed. Then he continued, "Captain wanted us to build houses, deliver food. Of course, it's hard to do that when you're getting shot at."

I knew the angst and frustration he had felt, like so many other soldiers involved in the modern Legion's counter-insurgencies.

I took a seat on the bed; even if he was not an ideal conversation partner, I had found something to put my mind on, to end the boredom.

Humanitarianism had turned dark at Cori Daglade, but I had not ultimately let it color my perception of providing goods to the civilians. Yet I didn't speak.

"One time we were trying to haul a box of bread into the city," the Nibenean Argonian began, "Had to drop it in the middle of the road when we came under attack from some guerilla wizards. And when we were taking cover in the alleys, a good minute after they might have even thought we retreated, one of the shitheads shot a fire ball at the crate and incinerated it. Why the hell would anyone want to do that?" The Renrijra Krin was constantly performing senseless destruction these days.

"I don't get a lot of what the Renrijra Krin does." I replied. Any suffering underwent by the people of Elsweyr would be used against us by those shallowly spectating the conflict, but would the Renrijra Krin really use such cruelty for that meager benefit? It felt radical to imagine.

"The Krin weren't always as nutty as they are now," said the Nibenean. I had noticed that too. The faction seemed to be getting crueler to their nation's people the longer the war went on. Yet even so, that didn't turn the locals against them. The resistance to the Imperial Legion and Elsweyri security forces only increased.

Jilheen-Boliineena looked down at the coarse cloth of his pants. Then he looked back up and continued, "Riverhold got real bad sometimes. We'd be assigned to deal with some criminal gang in the city, but on the way the Renrijra Krin or Revolutionary Faction or whoever the hell would ambush us. Someone would get injured or we'd lose a fella and have to regroup. Then by the time we got to our spot we were heading for the thugs would be gone."

I could relate. It was difficult to enforce laws when one had bandits jumping out of alleys and trying to claw one's eyes out. At least this unit had come here with a great, new advantage.

Jilheen-Boliineena looked up at the ceiling, with a noise almost like a laugh, and then again at his Imperial conversation partner.

"It was great, though, when I finally got take part in that job I was telling you about in the wagon. You remember, where we got to rescue those watchmen? Got to kill so many fetching rebels, not one of us got spooked or hurt or killed or had to adjust our plans for the whole thing. Captain Rato was the name of our officer. Thank the Gods he replaced Captain Vant. Vant's motto was 'make the Elsweyris know we're fighting this war for them.' That's what he'd actually say. Rato's motto would have been 'make the Elsweyris know we can kick ass.'"

I felt a bit uncomfortable with the other Lance Corporal dismissing charity towards the populace, but this conversation was not humdrum. He must have been bored before too given how readily and suddenly he was sharing.

Continuing the discourse with something less heavy, I asked, "Vant...what kind of a name is that?" It sounded Nordic or Cyrodilic.

"He was an Imperial. Had one eye-brow because the other was burned off from when he was a kid."

There was not a clear way to respond to something like that.

I looked down at the covers. After taking the conversation to that level I was not sure where it would go. Perhaps he would get up and leave.

"But you know what?" he said with a husky tone, "I like this setup even more. No dealing with the civvies, no long drags through the heat. Just...what? One fight every couple of weeks where the bandits never know what hit 'em." He was gazing ahead, though his mind was obviously somewhere farther than the wall. It seemed he had been in the vats already. It was odd he had picked me to talk with, because our views on the war did not quite seem to mesh, but it was good morale was still high everywhere.

I didn't like his attitude towards the Elsweyris, but he was right that we were simply fighters now. It didn't matter what our soldiers thought of people in Torval; that was liberating. Yes, the Imperial forces would achieve victory, and everyone would be happy: the Cyrodiils, the people of Elsweyr, the bordering Valenwoodi tribes. Everyone would find relief for the peace we were bringing to this ravaged nation, even if right now it only manifested through its violent arrival. As we cleared the streets and villages of barbarians, people would come around to our actions in droves. When I was old, I would look back in history books at this war with pride, a war we'd been able to win from my discoveries in Argonia and my performance of duty here and now.


	17. Sugar and the Night

"We want our life and our home back as it was twenty years ago, but if that is not realistic, then we will accept a different simple, pragmatic goal. Revenge. With a smile." -Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

First Seed 12, 4E2

(Jungle, North of Torval)

* * *

Little chirps rung on the backdrop of insectoid sizzling during this jungle night. Rizzani was forced to use magic to light his way, but my eyes,as well as a good portion of my face, had been replaced with that of a Khajiit, allowing me to see the moonless evening with sufficient clarity. My legs and arms had been supplanted too, for keenen jumping ability and ogre strength.

I was naked except for the belt which held my sheath, though I was not how to feel about exposing genitals that were not my own (but rather that of another animal).

I had made it through the sap safely twice now. I assumed my reservations about using it would be completely nullified soon.

This wilderness trek was an ironic prelude to government sophistication. I was about to visit one of the "tunnels" Jeelen had described. Apparently there was a secret lever disguised as a broken, thin tree trunk to open it. Even the poor nation of Elsweyr could implement such technology.

Captain Rizzani had briefed me about the assignment. I had to watch over an Imperial sugar company outpost for a small Renrijra Krin ambush; a Fighter's Guild member had already been hired to protect the administrator indoors, but I was guarding the outside.

Then the Redguard seemed to be slowing...to a stop. He turned. I noticed the jaggedly broken "stick" in the ground that Jeelen had mentioned.

Looking me in my night-adapted eyes, he said, "Now, Fidelis, I don't need to remind you to keep a low profile. All Kastav Antonius knows is that we have a 'special agent' watching his western flank! And remember, the tower, that's where the big man sits! Any suspicious, non-uniformed personnel approaching his property with weapons or fire qualify as targets." I tightened slightly at the thought of having to kill those who were not necessarily insurgents. Still, this was war, and innocents were bound to suffer.

Rizzani started walking towards the wall, and I noticed a small hole in his direction.

The Captain arrived right in front of it and put his face close to it. He looked through the aperture for a few seconds.

He disengaged and then began walking to the disguised lever. Now to see this "tunnel."

The officer pulled it.

The wall's uniformity broke, a section lowering itself, a captivating sight. But what was getting revealed was a quick passage into the city, hardly a tunnel, showing Jeelen's weak vocabulary.

The chunk of wall stopped once its top had become level with the ground.

It was time for me to head in. I began walking towards the newly opened portal, about to be alone. I was trusted to distinguish civilians from combatant when using deadly force, not given orders. That was a new level of faith. But given how much I had been forced to decide on my own in Black Marsh, maybe such should not be surprisingly.

I walked through the clandestine door. I had gotten to experience so many state secrets after getting picked for the assignment in Black Marsh.

This monster's feet transitioned to the dirt of the alley.

Walking forward, I heard the heavy door of bricks moving to close behind, separating me and the mustached officer and denying it owns presence.

I was in the Khajiiti capital, by means few knew existed. The highest building, the tower at the _Antonius Sugar_ city headquarters, was visible peaking above the roofs ahead.

It was odd to work alone in the Legion. Lance Corporal was not a high rank...but I did prove myself a capable decision maker in Argonia. The latter apparently held more weight. Such made it queer I had not been promoted yet, however.

Walking forwards, I recalled the map the Colovian officer had shown me in our sanctuary. Forwards, right, left, and then, when this soldier's judgment permitted, out onto the streets.

I wondered if the inhabitants of the buildings flanking me ever got suspicious of the sound of that secret passage opening, but recalled it must have been rare for the government to use entrances like that. Still, _my unit _would be using such passages frequently.

Regardless, that was for the Captain to worry about.

I was glad to contribute to this war. Because of the Renrijra Krin's stupidity (and, ironically, stunning finesse), it looked like the seemingly lost cause might indeed pull itself out of the darkness. Elsweyr could be a model for the other ravaged provinces of this day. We of the Cyrodilic military could prove to be the heroes the Fourth Era wanted and needed.

The streets were very quiet. There were night watchmen no doubt, and sneaky criminals prowling some places, but Torval was almost completely left to those two forces apparently.

I was coming close to the first corner. What if there just happened to be someone around it? They would not be in the line of sight of the secret door, but they would see this naked half-reptilian man.

I stopped and decided to precautionarily lean around.

There was no one, just an empty alley, seen clearly through my Khajiiti eyes.

I repositioned and made the turn.

There was a longer distance to the next one.

It still seemed remarkably quiet, though. While I rarely went out this late in Skingrad or the Imperial City, there was still the occasional horse-drawn carriage clapping through the streets or drunken teenager stumbling about. But little more than distant chainmail accompanied the Torval night. Maybe that was good for this assignment; it let this operative loosen up about considering those out in the streets late suspicious.

I was getting close to the next corner.

Someone on the road coughed.

I turned.

This was the final stretch. When my judgment permitted I would step out onto the street to utilize super-human abilities and plant myself on the roof of Antonius' building. Right now I was walking parallel to a small plantation at its north, I knew.

It was almost comical a keenen-legged, ogre armed, Khajiiti eyed freak was lurking behind these houses while tens of civilians slumbered in them.

But judging by my distance from the tower, it was almost time to turn onto the road. I would see the referents of the sketch Rizzani had showed. I mentally marked the building where I would turn.

I cleared my throat, voice deepened from the ogre transformation.

Arriving at that designated area, I began walking between that house and its neighbor. I would hide behind the east side of the roof, as well as behind most northward windowed-protrusion there.

Since there was no sound of chainmail I knew I could get to the destination unseen.

I emerged onto the streets, freak in the open but away from Elsweyri eyes. Soon I would jump, pull myself up, and get into be the covered little corner. Command was not sure exactly how many Renrijra would come, but I knew I could take out a few quickly with the element of surprise, magic, and the body parts at my disposal.

Now in front of the _Antonius Sugar _building, I reached my ogre arms into the air, pre-jump.

With super-human springiness I leapt, an experience I was the first human to be treated to months ago. Hitting the apex I grabbed the over-hanging piece of roof.

I pulled myself up, body feeling light with the ogre strength.

As my waist was about to pass my pale hands, I threw myself over. I scraped ogre fingers and clawed feet across the roof and stabilized.

I headed for north-eastern cover, to conceal myself from both guards and inbound guerillas. The enemy would be coming from the south, probably emerging from one of the visible alleys, likely near this Imperial's place of exit.

I went over the angular top of the roof, down a small ways, and then turned, crouched to make sure little more than my eyes could be seen over the top of the shingled structure. I stationed myself.

What a shock the guerillas would be in when an ogre armed, animal legged "man" landed in front of them! I didn't even unsheathe my sword, because these massive arms would be more useful free. I again wondered how long until rumors of us, in some capacity, started spreading. No doubt the first person to report it would be thought mad, but when similar stories started coming, people would have to reconcile the odd tales might be truth. Would they think to connect it to the opening of Black Marsh? After all, that had happened so recently.

It didn't matter either way. My mind went to other things...

It was almost comical to be guarding _Antonius Sugar_'s local headquarters, given it fit right in line with the narrative that we were fighting for the pleasure of men like him. K'Raska did open up a lot of markets which K'Dira had closed, and certainly it would be good for Cyrodilic business once the province was stable again, once we won this "war."

But winning any war meant that. It either meant ending the violence, so destructive efforts could be replaced with productive ones, and goods and their providers would stop getting smashed to pieces, or it meant keeping a hostile regime from controlling a province, ensuring Cyrodiil and the nation would be willing to trade with each other.

Yes, it all comes together nicely. Good leads to good. Keeping the province out the hands savages meant more prosperity for both lands. The way Mundus works in concert like that is a beauty so many people overlook.

But rather than reflect on the dynamics of international politics, I tried to keep in here and now, watching the various potential entry points. After all, I was hardly overburdened, so what little duties they threw to me I should execute with one hundred percent effort.

Chainmail jingled to the south, too noisy and steps too proud to be Renrijra Krin. They were Torval citywatch no doubt, thinking they were the only ones keeping peace tonight, ignorant of my crucial role.

They came around the corner. One was the "breed" which looked like Bosmer, an Ohmes, and other was a Tojay, the smaller version of a Tojay-Raht, the "sub-species" most popular to birth in Cyrodiil**. **I morbidly wondered if by some chance the two Khajiit might have stepped into this stretch just as the Renrijra Krin would arrive, though of course that was very unlikely.

With no gauntlets and only shortswords, the Torval watchmen were less well equipped than the standard Skingrad guard, a symptom of Elsweyr's economy. The Elsweyri Confederate Military did have a heavy presence in this city, with two headquarters within Torval's walls, as Captain Rizzani had told me, but I had yet to see one of their people about. Still, I knew from Dune what their soldiers looked like: they were fairly well armored and well armed, with the shape of the province on their cuirass, which was colored green on the bottom and yellow on the top, symbolizing the jungle and desert.

The watchmen passed hidden me, oblivious to the freak in their midst.

As they walked west of the plantation, I shifted my eyes back south. I was waiting for a change in one of those alleys, though would probably be waiting a good deal longer.

A firefly's light blinked nearby.

Hiding like this reminded me of Deechana's close encounter with a journalist which he had told me of three days ago. His probably would not be the last for this unit, as journalists had flocked to this war as greedily as any other, more so even with the growing number of private publications. When this war was over, historians would pick the bones dry. I was probably sitting in the most studied event of Fourth Era history, and what would be such for quite a few decades. I felt an odd sort of pride imagining the next generation reading about this war, heartened their fathers had made it through such a troubled past. The campaign in Morrowind, too, would be seen not as a greedy attempt to eliminate labor competition, but a noble one waged for equality and liberty.

With that thought my mind shifted to the fellow Hist sap soldiers in that land. How were they doing? I had not read much news on _that_ war. And Soch-Eena: what was she up to in Cyrodiil? The remnants of the Dark Brotherhood? Maybe those "The Natives" terrorists.

Then something moved in an alley southwards. The head of a Suthay-Raht was poking out, looking northwards down the road. Was this the ambush?

What was he looking at?

I looked all the way north but could not see anything at the corner where the plantation ended. I turned my head back, scanning along the way. There must have been more, and this must have been the attack.

Slightly north of me, another head was leaning out, but this one looked human...Imperial.

I remembered the guards at the front entrance had checked the identity of our unit's two men the first time we entered.

The Imperial gave a quick gesture to the previous head, then too turned northward. They were coordinating somehow, something most Legionaries did not see the enemy do. I looked again at the end the north-west corner of the street. Were they waiting for someone to come around the corner?

But then came another face from behind a house, with a height that suggested it was a Dagi-Raht. He signalled to his southward comrades.

The Dagi-Raht continued watching south, where his other two allies were. I turned back in that direction, noticing the human one also facing that way, and turning past him saw three had already exited the first alley, heading in the direction of the tower.

The one in front was in full leather armor, carrying a 'spiky ball' mace. The person behind and southward, female in a dark hood and tight-fitting clothes, caught my attention more sharply. she looked Elvish, too tall to be a Ohmes: she was an Altmer. She wielded a katana. Behind her was a similarly armored Cathay-Raht with a war-hammer.

The fact that two of the five belligerents were foreigners, or at least minorities in a rather racially homogenous province, was odd, but seemed of no consequence right now.

Likely the other two were mages, so to attack this melee group first would put my back in danger. It would be imperative to keep moving, maybe even try to make my way south of them.

My breathing tightened and stomach burned slightly at these odds.

I glanced back at the northern two. They still had not left their spots.

I could run for this position, jump, and land right in front of triangle, and, with the help of their confusion, could conceivably 'stun' the first two, one with each ogre arm. Then as they were down I could hit the unarmored Altmer with a hypothermal projection. Then I could dash off and perhaps try to funnel the remaining two into the alley. But relying too much on my poor choice of self-defense spell was a bad idea.

Then again, if I took the Suthay-Raht's warhammer, it would be easy to kill the woman. I would have to kill her quickly, though, as the others probably had ranged attacks.

A lot could go wrong. Even as a Hist sap super-soldier, being outnumber this many fold was worrisome.

It was dangerous, but I had orders, duty, and a shrinking window of opportunity. It was time to walk through the fire, forgetting the self, like so many times before. I just had to do it again.

Yes, I would begin now, releasing my legs from their stagnancy, going into the brief but chaotic and dangerous next minute.

I began bounding forwards, keenen feet pounding shingles, subtlety now gone.

At first there seemed to be no response from them, but when they did see this monster, I would be the last thing they would ever gape at. At least, that was the hopeful outcome. I had biological tools on my side, but they had numbers.

Then I heard one of them to the north yell something.

The Suthay-Raht turned, then the woman. She locked eyes with me right as my final step was made and I launched myself through the air.

I was flying, in the hands of physics, nothing in my control for now. I could only imagine what could be going through the minds of my adversaries, but hopefully little of it would be helpful to their survival.

The ground was close and once I hit it the fight would start.

I landed.

The heavy ogre parts made the impact oppressive even with the shock-absorbant legs, but I remained on my feet. I was less than a yard in front of two enemies.

I shot my arms outward between the two males' legs, knocking their feet out from under them, causing both to fall sideways towards the direction of the other as I quickly moved to erect myself.

When the two guerillas hit the ground, what to do next came instinctually. Moving to pound their heads, I shot back downwards, not lending an instant to them. I slammed their helmeted craniums with super-human strength.

The impacts had likely killed them. The two males were down, the female remaining. Without wasting an instant, I grabbed the warhammer from the Cathay-Raht and blurred to fighting stance.

The High Elf must have felt like she had been hit by a tsunami with all she saw. But her face did not portray complete panic, only collected fear.

This freak now up straight, her skull was not within range of my weapon, but her sword was; I would disarm her before getting closer.

I swung the hammer. The ogre strength would make it impossible for her to keep hold of the sword once it made contact. Yes, this fight was going smoothly for me so far. I was tearing right through the enemy.

It hit her katana and caused her to release her grip, the Akaviri weapon tumbling away.

But now her legs were bending as if for retreat. That made immediately reversing the hammer's path imperative. The physical dynamics of this situation ran through my mind as I tried to step forward and invert the direction.

She formed her first step towards the sugar stalks as my right arm was nearly wrapping around my chest as I tried to reverse the push. Every instant mattered, and it made clear just how damning momentum was.

When the clockwise push finally conquered the other, the moment of truth dawned. The metal would either smack her head and shatter her skull or breeze past her.

Time was slow. The steel was close.

There was no contact, misfortune her savior!

The swing finished, having claimed nothing but air. Clearly she would get away. The brutal string that first seemed to foster pride had left me with a loss, but I had to concern myself with my vulnerable back. If those behind were wizards they had no doubt gotten past shock and primed their attacks.

I whirled my heavy body around. I fought the momentum of the heavy weapon to avoid overshooting my turn. I managed to control the clumsy physical force, and found myself staring back at the two of the south.

The Imperial was lowering a staff to release its payload.

I decided to wildly side-arm the hammer. I knew I would have time to let go of the weapon before dodging, but only just. I saw the fireball forming at the end of the staff.

I could let go _now._

I released the metal and lunged rightwards. All was a blur, leaving the furious spinning of the steel weapon to my imagination. Hopefully it would kill him.

I hit the ground, skidding on the dirt.

A clunk and thud indicated the human had been hit: a brutal impact, no doubt.

The staff wielding target only visible by his legs, down if not dead. My attention shifted to his comrade north, who for some reason had not yet cast his spell. But soon he would, I had to infer.

My adrenaline engorged body in this rather unflattering position, I breezed through the mental processes necessary for hypothermal projection and cast.

As it flew I knew he could easily dodge at this distance, but it provided me brief cover. I propped myself up, now standing again. But the left corner of my eye caught movement. The staff-wielder seemed to be propping himself up too. It was tactical suicide to try to duel two at once. I had to isolate the battles.

I decided for a charging pounce at the Imperial, tensing in hopes the human would not have time to fire upon me.

I began bolting. As the foreigner erected himself, every half-second made a difference. A trail of dark blood was running down his mouth. No doubt the inhuman strength had devastated his jaw, but in combat mode he would not feel the pain.

Now he was standing, ready to discharge the staff again. The implications that had for my flesh rushed through my mind.

The bloody man lowered the staff. The fire ball began forming. But I was close, perhaps close enough to lunge to him with these "hopper" legs. Yes, at least I had to try.

I jumped, going for the dive and tackle with a racing heart.

The fire careened towards me. But at its height and mine, thanks to the well-timed dive, my vital organs seemed to be free of its course. It passed under my torso. Would it hit my foot, giving me my first magical burn? No, it passed that too.

The battle had been sealed, and not in his favor. I felt a great relief. Physics just had to finish transporting me to the victim, from whom I was about four feet away. On his face the recognition of that was evident.

My arms hit his shoulders, knocking him against the wall and almost slamming my head into the wood too. We were two Imperial mortal enemies with faces nearly against each other.

Now he would feel ogre strength. I released my right grip. I punched the side of his head.

He went limp as a rag-doll. He was dead, or maybe just unconscious, but indisputably incapacitated.

The sweat was cold against my brow. But he was conquered, just like the other four. The last remaining enemy must have known he was against nigh impossible odds.

I stood.

My muscles had loosened slightly, only one more to go. There was an encouraging feeling, to see this all had not proved too tough a challenge for a biologically enhanced Densius Fidelis.

But now to plan for the final adversary, who was taking cover three houses away. The Dagi-Raht one was almost definitely a spell caster, and I hated those sort of duels.

Then I realized it was not necessary to face off as such; with the glorious freedom provide by these legs, I could transverse the roofs of these single-story houses and come down on him! Yes, such rich potential these parts had given me!

I placed myself in front of the wall to begin, eager to defeat my final opponent.

I jumped for the ledge.

My feet came short of the roof, but close enough I was able to knee and claw until I had a stability.

I was on and standing! My mind marked the one he resided behind. But he would hear the commotion when I began running, no doubt, which is why I needed to be quick.

I began bolting, quickly transversing this first house, then approaching the edge and leaping. In the air with my heavy, augmented body, I worried suddenly about breaking through the incoming roof.

But landing did not break my stride. Blissful relief. My feet bounded over this dwelling too and then came the next gap. I jumped, now so very close to the Dagi-Raht. I landed. The Argonian Royal Court had been brilliant indeed to try to utilize the Hist sap to make super-soldiers. There was the edge under which the guerilla had taken cover. This was the end.

I slowed and dropped, spinning in the air to face him. So quickly and efficiently had sentenced the rebels to their defeats. I hit the ground, a terrible sight close enough to feel his breath. I rose just enough to smack him on the side of the head.

It knocked the little catman off his feet, utterly helpless with our contrasting physiques and quite a satisfying sight.

The defeated guerilla landed. Looking at him, he was out. Maybe dead, maybe just unconscious, but all was quiet now.

I had won the battle. No doubt Captain Rizzani would be proud. Four enemies taken down, one retreated.

Combat mode could fizzle out of me. Though I had entered this battle slightly worried, and there had been moments of grave uncertainty, I had come out unscathed. The woman remained alive, but it was unlikely she would try anything alone.

The guards would come to investigate soon, and wonder what happened, but Rizzani would be happy with this performance. Another bit of heroism performed by Densius Fidelis.

But the guards...an unsettling thought came to mind: did I have a duty to jab my sword in this Khajiit's neck if he was unconscious to make sure stories of what he saw would not leak to the citywatch? His tale would be vague, but worth something, and my people might be the most sensitive military secret in Cyrodilic history.

I bent down to check the Dagi-Raht's pulse, to see if the decision would be necessary. I hoped he was dead, I hoped I would not have to chose.

I touched that special spot on his neck, waiting to see if I would feel the fateful contortion.

Bump.

Subtle through the thick ogre hands, was it just a spasm of the imagination?

Bump.

No, he was alive.

I slowly recoiled, knowing this quiet night a decision stood infront of me. I had taken plenty of lives before, but never one who ceased to pose a threat. I could feel the gaze of the gods this forking future.

One enemy's life...that was definitely a worthy price to pay for the keeping top Legion secrets, was it not? _Yes._

But what if the others were simply unconscious too?

But they'd received full, direct hits, unlike this man.

Yet two had had helmets, maybe that kept them also from death. Three in total I might have to kill. Three lives, but that was a small price for any significant degree of Imperial Legion security, was it not?

_Yes._

I needed to shun civilian squeamishness. This was war, and I was a soldier. I was a killer. Bestowing suffering and death were necessary evils.

My pale hand moved to unsheathe my shortsword. My ogre fingers wrapped around the hilt. I pulled the gleaming metal into the night. Should I do this? My mind still said _yes_.

The sword's tip would determine the Khajiit's continued existence or death. It seemed like this deserved more reflection, but for what? I had already examined the issue. The Dagi-Raht would die. Yes.

I just had to break this stagnancy and take action. _Now. _I plunged it downward.

It penetrated his throat.

Only the night's silence accompanied the subtle, fleshy noise. Blood began to placidly seep from his neck.

There was an empty feeling now, and the quiet of the night now seemed somewhat more so. I was not sure what that meant for my spirit's near future.

But I did feel some relief at the decision being over with.

Yet the others, they might still be alive. They too might need to meet my sword.

But to the north came the sound of chainmail. Citywatch. Three? They had finally come to investigate. They would find a bizarre scene. If the Renrijra Krin operatives were alive, the prison guards would find a bizarre tale too, but still, their presence meant it was too late to avoid that. I was glad.

Yes, it was time to leave them, let luck decide. Maybe they were dead, maybe they would awake and tell of their strange encounter with matching narratives. Still, it was out of my hands now, in the hands of fate, and I was glad for that.

This Imperial was going to leave, head back to the door where Captain Rizzani, oblivious to my dilemma, awaited. I would leave this night to the wonder of the guards and rebels.

I turned to walk back. Kastav Antonius' plantation, building, and person were safe, and the Elsweyri guards had not had to risk themselves. The mission was a success. _The mission was a success._


	18. Readers

"Elsweyr has, for almost as long, tried to preserve cultural purity by largely barring itself from outside influence, banning import of foreign books and other culturally stylized products from abroad (especially Cyrodiil and Valenwood), even though this is believed to have a very poor impact on their economy. Before Ka'Raska's reign, this practice had been quickly spreading South. However, after much negotiating with local governments, these bans have been partially lifted by Ka'Raska, with talks for further action still in progress. This decision not only allowed the import of many alien products to the province, but has also allowed many guilds to establish branches in Elsweyr."-_ The Elsweyr Conflict Today, "The Battlefield's Shift"_

First Seed 31, 4E2

Subterranean Sanctuary, Near Torval

* * *

I decided this would be my last game with the three Nibenean Argonians as Jeelen dealt our stacks. Hot Kings was deep, but even it grew old after an hour.

"You know that barber shop in the Commerce District?" He asked with a conversational tone, "The guerillas killed the owner and his customer yesterday." He didn't even look up from his dealing.

"They kill people over hair cuts," Ah Marz said simply. "Maybe that's what they mean when they say 'absurdity has become necessity.'" What was he referencing?

"_Who_ says 'absurdity has become necessity?'"

"Read that little blue leaflet Captain Rizzani keeps in the book shelf. It's Renrijra Krin propaganda."

"Not surprising." I replied dryly, referring to 'absurdity has become necessity.' The comment felt a bit self-righteous, but I paid that little mind among friends.

"Yeah," Jeelen concurred. "But even so, that shit was published years ago, back before they started killing their own people over hair-style."

I was kind of surprised Jeelen too had read that pamphlet. Jeelen did not strike me as a reader, especially of non-entertainment material. But somehow that made it feel easier for _me _to read it.

Jeelen dealt the last card, my final game beginning. I was not even sure about playing _this_ one, but had settled on the decision arbitrarily.

Deechana coughed.

We all began removing four cards from the top of our stacks and looking at our hands. I had a Two of Diamonds, Four of Spades, Four of Diamonds, and a Six of Clubs. My odds were fairly poor. It seemed best to try for an Undercut. I removed the 'Two', pretty much the only hope in this hand.

Deechana put his selected card forward, then said, "I read they're finally sentencing that squad who raped that girl in Dune." Four dead and one defiled and that crime had been followed by the media for almost a year. The enemy did worse every few days, but the newsletters would never have the capacity to follow through all their crimes, let alone with any detail. It was just another injustice detrimental to us, as this era was fraught with.

Ah-Marz put his forwards, and Jeelen his. No one seemed to have any comment on what Deechana said. Good, my blood was already starting to simmer slightly, and I wanted to forget about the colossal imbalance of the propaganda war.

Jeelen flipped each card over: my Two of Diamonds, Ah-Marz's Two of Spades, Deechana's Jack of Spades, and Jeelen's Queen of Hearts. So much for an Undercut. Jeelen swept the whole pile to himself in a casual victory.

He then put his second card forwards, obviously having already strategized. I picked my six.

"Fourth Era Pundit's saying Ocato was behind Uriel's assassination, working with Mythic Dawn." Jeelen scoffed. It was surprising how up to date the Argonian was with oppositional writings, and I was surprised my detrimental temperament was odd here.

"Really?" Ah-Marz asked. I'd heard the previous Emperor accused of things almost as wacky in the Arcane University: sitting in _that_ throne there was nothing people would not accuse you of.

"Well, they're giving voice to people who do."

Jeelen flipped over our cards again. The urban Argonian had an Ace, and once more took the pile.

"That's one of the tamer accusations they've leveled against Ocato," Ah-Marz commented with a trace of amusement in his voice.

"No kidding," Jeelen said with a laugh. "Never thought I'd live to see the head honcho of Cyrodiil at the end of the kind of hate he is. The shit Uriel took was bad enough." Indeed, the Fourth Era was a dark one, one of bitterness, anger, and cynicism, where no trace of the predicted optimism was to be found any longer.

I submitted my third card. Then Jeelen did, then Ah-Marz, then Deechana.

The Waterfront Argonian flipped the pieces of paper over, quick and dexterous from experience. "Hot King!" he called. In his streak of fortune he forced us to surrender our last two cards as well. This last game would be over quickly, but that wasn't necessarily bad since I only half wanted to play. He scooped it all into his stack with perhaps a hint of pride. Would he give us a bigger surprise and get four victories in a row?

We all removed our next quad, a procedure that had become familiar with over this last hour. Queen of Spades, Nine of Hearts, Jack of Diamonds, and Five of Hearts. This hand was a bit more promising, but I wondered if the gods would toy with us and give Jeelen a bit more luck.

I put the Queen of Spades forwards, a potential winner, though was not sure if I should even be glad given my lack of enthusiasm.

The others put their cards in. Jeelen flipped them. Could it be...

"Hot King." The urban Argonian said with a comical ring and smirk. The absurd thought had become reality, as if the Nine were mocking us...

"Damn!" Ah-Marz said in amused amazement as all three of Jeelen's opponents surrendered their entire hands. This game would be _very_ brief.

"Wish we were gambling!" The Nibenean remarked, still smirking.

The finned Argonian got his next four cards. I moved to do the same. Would the gods really give us reason to drop our jaws and let Jeelen take the next?

Fives and Sixes, another pathetic hand. I was not going to last much longer, clearly. Maybe the gods were helping me leave the game early.

There was no plausible strategy I could use to redeem the hand either, so I just put my Six of Diamonds forward. I wondered if Jeelen would again be the most fortunate.

Ah-Marz put his choice forward, then spoke, "You know, it's funny Torval's been doing so bad. I hear both the local Confederate Generals assigned to the city have political ambitions. You'd think they'd be trying harder." From our conversations it was clear Ah-Marz loved filling his mind with the news, a bit of an intellectual pursuit among the drudge of dullness and simplicity in this barracks.

I remarked, "Well, it's not like they've got an easy situation. _Everyone_ wants the capital under their control."

I, the table's lone Colovian, put a random card forward.

"Yeah," Jeelen said huskily, "Plus that dumbass Mane decided not to rebuild the Elsweyri Confederate Army once he got the throne." Harsh words for our most important ally. "So now those guys gotta lead an army full of K'Dira's biggest supporters." He meant the ones who stuck with the previous leader even when times got hard, as they often did in Elsweyr. And we knew the supporters of yesterday's Mane were often supporters of the Renrijra Krin.

"At least some people can afford Fighter's Guild protection here," Private Ah-Marz said, submitting his card.

The others had put their cards forward. Jeelen flipped them over.

This time Deechana was the victor, Jeelen's streak of luck closed. Deechana took the pile humbly.

I submitted another one, as did the others rather quickly. He flipped them. The Waterfront Argonian had put forward a four, no doubt trying for an Undercut. Ah-Marz was the victor with a Queen.

With a hopeless two cards left and predictable fate, the itch to do something else should conquer my pledge to finish the game, I decided.

"You know what? I give up," I said good-naturedly. I pushed out my chair and stood; We were friends, all relaxed in each other's company, so letting arbitrary preferences shine through was not subject to offend anyone.

"See ya, Fidelis," Deechana said absent mindedly.

I turned for the barracks as they continued. After an hour of gaming, it would take a little bit of time to transition my mind from that world to the next. I decided to lie in bed, which itself should please me for at least half an hour before getting restless.

I went through the door (noticing our Imperial Hist-sap advisor Pinarius Linius napping in the back.)

That pamphlet came to mind, the Renrijra Krin propaganda. For some reason the idea of reading it seemed less dangerous now. Maybe I would do that; such a prospect did not bring worry, and if I felt the anger starting to brew I could stop.

I headed for the book shelf, mentally locking on the blue leaflet. I felt oddly casual about this, so I inferred I would be relaxed viewing the text.

Upon getting close, I knelt to get the little rectangle. Even starring at the blue handbill, my emotions remained flat. So long as I did not stir _myself_ up I should be able to read this fine, I assumed. I removed it, the words of those who tried to kill us in hand, which had once been in the hands of Jeelen and Ah-Marz.

I straightened again again, and sat down on the bed, reading the title again in its curvy letters: **Ahzirr Trajijaezerri. **Normally this would be a sure-fire way to poison my mind: this was written by the very faction who killed Cicero and Zaheen. But knowing the others had read it without much reaction, I felt oddly calm.

I opened it, and without delay began reading.

**This is an absurd work. But like all things Khajiiti, as the expression goes, "gzalzi vaberzarita maaszi", or "absurdity has become necessity." Much of what I have to say has probably never been written before, and if it has, no one has read it. The Imperials feel that everything must be written down for posterity, but every Khajiiti kitten born in Elsweyr knows his history, he drinks it in with his mother's milk.**

**Fairly recently, however, our struggles to win back our homeland from the rapacious Count of Leyawiin have attracted sympathetic persons, even Imperials, who wish to join our cause, but, it seems, do not understand our ways. Our enemies, of course, do not understand us either, but **

The door opened and I looked up to see Captain Rizzani. I had not even noticed his footsteps, immersed.

He stopped, door opened behind him, and looked at me in his usual rigid posture.

"Fidelis, I've had some quiet time today to look through your record, and I think you're entitled to a promotion. You're a Corporal from now on. I don't know why the higher ups didn't think to give you one earlier."

"Thank you, sir." The unceremious, invisible transformation gave me a new title to think of myself by.

Without another word the Redguard officer turned and walked back through the doorway, this time closing it behind him. Had the card players processed the man's words through the distraction of their game? I would tell them either way. I was _Corporal _Densius Fidelis now, and would finally be able to give orders to Jilheen-Bolineena. Invisibly, I had changed.

But for some reason I did not feel much about that.

The pamphlet in hand, I looked back down at it.

But before I got back to my place, I looked at the queer words again:

**_"gzalzi vaberzarita maaszi" _**

**___"absurdity has become necessity,"_**

Not just a slogan of the Renrijra Krin, but a reverred saying woven deep into the culture of Elsweyr. It must have had some deeper wisdom I could not yet see.


	19. Contested Identity

"The most disciplined and effective military force in history, the Imperial Legions preserve the peace" -Savant's Notes on Vvardenfell, "Factions"

Rain's Hand 10, 4E2

Subterranean Sanctuary, Near Torval

* * *

**IDENTITY OF FORT NOMORE ATTACKERS CONTESTED**

**The tragedy at Fort Nomore will be one always remembered with shock, horror, and remorse, but an investigation conducted under the authority of Councilman Agepetius Philomelius and Councilwoman Igna Gold-Hair may shed new, unexpected light on the true perpetrators!**

**Investigators' interviews with soldiers stationed at the fort during the time of the massacre seem to point away from previous conclusions, or, perhaps, assumptions, about the identity of the attackers. While Potentate Ludovicius Ocato insists the raiders were Elsweyri guerillas, evidence contests such a claim!**

**Captain Danus Farrius, who presided over the base during the time of the attack, was quoted in the investigation report as saying, "The level of professionalism exhibited in these fighters was like nothing the Renrijra Krin has ever demonstrated. They showed amazing coordination and martial skills. When they killed our sentries not a single shot missed. We lost twelve of our soldiers in a single attack, and only managed to kill about five of the enemy. Their retreat was flawless as well. We've never seen anything like that from the Renrijra Krin."**

**Private Janus Lanavo, whose superior officer was killed during the assault, reported, "Only maybe half the guys attacking us were Khajiit. There were Imperials and Argonians and Elves in the mix." While the Renrijra Krin has been shown to employ non-Khajiiti belligerents in the past, the numbers arouse suspicion.**

**Private Sero Flavus told the team, "When I was forced to take one of the [enemy] down, he put up a damn good fight. He fought like he had training or something."**

**While many in the Legion remain certain the attack was orchestrated by the Renrijra Krin, little evidence has been disclosed to reinforce that claim. No Khajiiti guerilla group, infact, has yet claimed credit for the attack. Was Potentate Ocato's judgment too hasty? Who really killed nineteen of the Empire's bravest at Fort Nomore? Perhaps we have yet to find out!**

A dread had seeped into me reading the article. Was some other faction behind the Fort Nomore incident? Might this investigation begin to turn the hearts of the public and worse, the politicians? Could this article become the catalyst for a recall? Agepetius Philomelius' status as a Councilman now felt like a slap to my face.

I felt currently conscious of the present moment and the stony quiet that surrounded it, worried about the future. Might the Imperial Legion indeed fade from this imperiled nation, and indeed see the war abandoned after all, Cicero and Zaheen's killers victorious and free to roam the province, all my dreams for what this land could become lost?

Then the door opened, jolting me out of my reflections. "Hey Fidelis," Deechana called, "wanna play Hot Kings with us?"

"Yeah, sure," I responded without thinking.

I looked at the courier, which remained still in my hand. But there was nothing left to do with it.

I slowly put the paper down. Worry brewed inside me, but I would keep what I read to myself for now. Of course, in all likelihood, it would not be the last time the issue made the newsletters.


	20. Fruits

"Geographically, Elsweyr is a harsh area of badlands and dry plains. Only near the southern reaches does the soil turn fertile, and the whole of this region is covered in jungle and rainforests," -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Second Seed 3, 4E2

(Tenmar Forest, South of Subterranean Sanctuary)

* * *

Nearly every inch of the jungle was covered in soaked plant life. The alarmingly windy rainstorm had been brief, but had still left its mark. The damp ground reminded me of Black Marsh.

Our job was to once again to collect Tenmar Forest's edible fruits for our base. That was the role of the battle-mages in 'house-keeping' our sanctuary. The archers and swordsmen hunted, the battle mages gathered, and the rest kept the sanctuary clean and tidy.

Zerr berries, bananas, kala, mangos, and faja were the five fruits common in this jungle. Jeelen, Collects-Rocks, and I had been trudging through here for nearly an hour though and still only a had handful of berries to take back.

"This is a drag," Collects-Rocks said glumly. "Would it really hurt to have one of us go into the Commerce District to buy some things?"

I swatted at a bug.

Jeelen said, "Gotta agree, Rocks; Rizzani's fetching mad. He sends us into operations in the city with all those animal parts, but we can't even go buying shit there like normal people. Last assignment I _know_ a civi saw me jump seven feet." Jeelen had not told me about that, but his words made me think again of the question of how long our super soldier program could stay secret. All my assignments had been outside the city walls since guarding the Antonius Sugar's headquarters, though.

But, sadly, our deployment had been on the verge of being rescended for weeks since the investigation on the Fort Nomore incident. A small spark of misfortune could mean the Elder Council voting to cripple the war effort. Then we would not have to worry about our secret being revealed early, but this province would become a breeding ground for evil.

A breeze russtled the leaves.

"We'll probably make it to Senchal before we find enough fruit to satisfy the Captain," Collects-Rocks said dryly. We were a good deal south of the compound by now. A monkey screamed.

"Maybe we'll find S'Azza's hideout while we're out here." That was first crack about the Renrijra Krin's leader I had made, but Jeelen used him in one-liners all the time. Another breeze russled the foiliage. A bird cried from a distant canopy.

Then Collects-Rocks said, "Have any of you ever read about the Arnesian War? Some of the Dunmer troops had to do this sort of thing so the Argonians wouldn't know they were in the area." It felt slightly strange to hear him say "Argonians" in the third person, but I liked it.

"Haven't, Rocks." Jeelen responded.

"Me neither," I said.

Then I thought to ask to continue the conversation, "How's the city doing, Jeelen? You had an assignment there just a few days ago." I was hoping to hear some positives, a glimmer that might grow.

"Same shit, different day, Fidelis." I sunk. "Confederate military is still marching the streets, gangsters still out in the open, citywatch still afraid to police."

That was, unfortunately, a monotonus pattern. With no sign of progress, it seemed the Elder Council could tip and cut off supplies at any time. But if we could give up arbitrarily, the enemy could theoretically also.

All one could do was watch and pray. A small turn for the better might let Potentate Ocato breathe easier, but a small turn for the worse might well trigger a recall.

Then Collects-Rocks commented, "I wonder if Elsweyr will ever be stable with the way they get their leader." It was discouraging hearing that sort of talk from a fellow soldier, but it was, sadly, a good point; A Mane was not a descendant of the last, but rather a special, rare breed of Khajiit with no blood relation to his predecessor. For that reason, they often greatly opposed the philosophies of their predecessors, and with Elsweyr's overthrow of Imperial authority twenty-seven years ago, and the power it had put in its central government subsequently, the illustrious position had become nearly kingship.

"Heeeeey!" Jeelen said jovially, pointing, "There's a nice tree!"

I came back to reality. Finally something had happened in the external world! Indeed, a virgin tree, full of the delicious faja, maybe enough to fill all our sacks, straight ahead!

With a new briskness we walked towards the purple fruits, Jeelen in front.

Heading towards our goal made me think about our hopes for this nation. Would this mission pick itself up, dust itself off, and prevail, us able to stay long enough for the province to see day and set an example for this new, dicey Era? Or would we see the land of the Khajiit sink into the abyss? My instincts leaned neither way.

But day by day my duty was clear, and each mission we could make the enemy regret fighting us a little more. Even if I did see my dreams of what Elsweyr could be melt away, at least I would know I had done my part to prevent it.

But still, every day the news was nerve-wracking to await. A small turn for the worse could turn the Elder Council. I just had to believe that the next spot of luck in this war would happen in _our_ favor, not the enemy's.


	21. Swords and Training

"The official religion of Cyrodiil is Nonarianism, a belief system centered around the worship of the so-called 'Nine Divines', which emerged from and rapidly outgrew its parent religion, Octarianism. Cyrodilic Imperialism, while not officially intolerant of other religions, has caused small pockets of Nonarianists to emmerge in all province of Tamriel." -_The Heart of the Empire, "Religion"_

Second Seed 29, 4E2

(Armory, Subterranean Sanctuary)

* * *

The thick shower of sparks as the rock-wheel ground the metal was one I had not seen in a long time. There was not much need for a sharp sword in the Imperial City patrols, and even here it was questionable how necessary it was right now, but hardass Rizzani demanded today we sharpen our weapons. With only four wheels in the armory, however, it was required we take turns, and the Captain had extracted Jeelen, Deechana, Hal-Seeus and I from our card game, delaying an imminent Jack Attack.

The armory stored not only the standard Imperial Legion arms of longswords, shortswords, and bows, but also a few other weapons: hammers, daggers, and claymores. Deechana had gotten the opportunity to handle two claymores at once with ogre strength, though it was Jeelen who had found himself more enthralled with the idea, and likely a little envious.

"Fidelis, Seeus, either of you ever handled a weapon besides what the Legion gave you?" the Waterfront Argonian asked. It was a natural topic to sprout in a room like this. I had been given my grandfather's longsword for the road on the way to the Imperial City, but beyond that, no.

"A longsword, just for the roads. I never had to use it though."

"Not me," said Hal-Seeus. Intuitive, because, as our Field Healer, he rarely even used his weapon in the Legion.

"I did." Jeelen said, "Every one's gotta have a weapon on the Waterfront, but no one can afford a good one unless they're up to some illegal shit. I just had a rusty iron dagger, almost had to use it once for my sister's sake." Jeelen never before mentioned having a sister.

"What happened?"

But then I thought I heard the secret entrance opening! The silence signaled I was not the only one intrigued. It was quickly followed by an alien voice. "Captain Rizzani, Captain Rizzani!" the Colovian voice called. I stopped pedaling. The others did too. We listened.

The door to Rizzani's office opened from the inside, and through the wall I could hear "Lelles! What's bringing you here!"

The Breton said in a slightly breathless but still powerful tone, "It's an attack Kae'tar, that Nonarian village a mile from here! One of the locals came running to our camp, but I couldn't leave the encampment any less attended than it is now! I could only bring a couple of troopers with me! Could you spare some of your own, maybe even an interpreter?"

Without another word, a shout came in our direction. "Jeelen, Fidelis, Deechana, Ah-Marz, stop sharpening those weapons! You're under the command of Captain Salomon Lelles now! Get out here on the double!" This was quite unexpected.

Then the Redguard yelled down the hall, "Inius, cancel training and find S'Bassa. Both of you submit yourself to the command of Captain Lelles!" I had never been presented with an assignment this way before. "Don't bother with any item of armor soldiers," said the man to all six of us, "just bring yourselves to Lelles on the double!"

I disengaged from the machine. I immediately started walking for the doorway, the others doing the same. This would certainly be different, fighting without plating or biological enhancements. I felt slightly intimidated, but nonetheless approached the doorway with my shortsword at my side, about to see the long referenced Captain Lelles for the first time and fall under his command.

He was tall for a Breton, hair a fiery orange, eyes blue, and face hearty. He was in the hulking, proud metal Legion suit I had not seen in a long time. And here I was, standing at the ready to fight in cloth.

Everyone else's eyes seemed to have turned down the hall, though, so mine did too; I saw S'Bassa being led out of the dining quarters by Inius. I had not worked with an interpreter since Dune, except for the unofficial one Soch-Eena had served as in Black Marsh.

Once their spirited strides had all brought us clustered together, the Breton officer shouted, "Come on!" He began to head back through the secret passage. It was an odd sight, a new man in this clandestine headquarters.

As he got into the 'ruin' section he broke into a light jog which we followed.

It struck me strange someone as low ranking as a Captain, besides Rizzani, knew about this facility. What about the troopers he was with, where were they? Were they also aware?

He began up the stairs. Obviously the soldiers he had mentioned were somewhere on the surface, but had they seen him enter this underground chamber? Would they be staring right at our facing as soon as we reached ground-level?

The darkness of the ruin quickly made its way down the officer's body, giving way to sunlight, and then we were out in the hot, humid, jungle air.

Ahead, through the leaves and shrubbery and trunks, two figures in Legion armor, both with their backs to us, could be discerned. Those were the men he had brought, and Breton had used a comical method for keeping them in the dark.

The Captain's jog was getting faster, the path still a good deal away, and we followed suit.

Suddenly Inius spoke from behind us, "I assume you have your hands full with the city, sir, and that's why you need to employ us."

It was as much of a question as a statement, but did give off a hint that he disliked surprises. It seemed a little unprofessional to ask those sort of things.

"City's terrible, soldier. Humanitarian aid shipments are being attacked, guild workers being kidnap, some crazies keep cutting the ropes on the wells no matter how many times we fix 'em, and some psychopath keeps throwing fire potions over the walls." T_hrowing fire potions over the walls?_ What motivated people to behave like that? Still, it was not the first time I had heard such a grim and strange report. We just had to keep truding through the darkness, hoping for a glimmer, and not a pitfall.

Either way, silence indicated that was a satisfactory answer for the Imperial-named Argonian

Leaves and ferns slapped my legs. Salomon Lelles was the only one with that area covered by metal.

"What about to the local who told you about the attack?" Deechana asked. Apparently the unit had established this officer was a pretty open book.

"He's recieving medical attention at our encampment, but focus on the struggle ahead, we've got lives to save." Or perhaps not.

We were close to the two armored Legionaries, but they remained perfectly still. "Broder, Gro-Karlog," the officer yelled. "You can turn now, but if I find out either one of you peaked behind it's a court-marshal!"

The Imperial and Orc rotated themselves, and the Captain slowed to a stop to face rightward down the path, the way to the village obviously.

He began moving, quickly elevating to a runner's pace; we accelerated in kind. It would be nice to meet the two new Legionaries, but socializing would not occur until the return. Our current priority was to save the Khajiiti Nonarians, though it was an interesting and somewhat intimidating fight we would go into with no armor, no plan, and no special parts.

Still, it would be great to be recognized for heroism again, to rescue people directly rather than secretly ambush the enemy. My best memories from this province were hearing the thanks of the indigenous people.

Of course, thanks had to be earned. We had to run with all our mite, and prepare for combat ahead. I could tell Lelles' was running along the path as fast as his armor would let him now.


	22. Kae'tar

"Topal the Pilot in his peregrinations around Tamriel encountered the Khajiit not in Elsweyr, but far up the Niben River, close to the Imperial City, where they preyed on the native creatures, and caused his crew much distress as they stalked the river banks. We have records too from the Merethic Bosmer that certain parts of Valenwood were to be avoided for fear of the great jungle cat men. It may be comfortably surmised that the Khajiit, though most at home in the deserts, reigned as the dominant culture across southern Tamriel in ancient days." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Second Seed 29, 4E2

(Near Kae'tar, Tenmar Forest)

* * *

The path led into a gated area, Kae'tar no doubt. A seven foot brick wall seemed to surround the village but was mostly shrouded in jungle shrubbery. Finally our unit was here, to face the enemy terrorizing the locals and defeat them.

Lelles and Inius, the two officers, would turn the corner and see what awaited us first. Jeelen and I were in the back as was usual for battle mages, along with Hal-Seeus and S'Bassa.

The Captain was close to the town entrance. He got to the path's corner. He turned. I watched his sword and legs.

But he stopped, as if disarmed by what he saw. In a seemingly foggy state of mind, he started slowly walking into the village borders. A dread started to creep up; what did he see? Were we too late? The soldiers in the middle quickly took on a similar demeanor before they disappeared past the opening. I could hear some outraged shouting in Ta'agran, seemingly being directed towards us. Now it was time for Jeelen and I to turn that corner. We did.

A large, charred ruin was at the center of town, the size and shape of a chapel. That was the confirmation. My spirits sank to the bottom.

The locals were yelling and pumping their fists at us. I could feel searing gazes as I advanced step by step. Farmers on either side of us shook their rakes. There was still nothing said by Lelles, no clear thing to do, no clear thing to tell the locals.

Then suddenly something could be heard cutting through the air! My head darted to face a twirling blur moving towards Captain Lelles' who had also turned to face it.

And then, with a sickening crack, the projectile stopped, buried in his head, its form as an axe clear. He fell like a sack of bricks.

Our enemies were still here! Or-

-that seemed to set off the other civilians! Kae'tar's residents were going to attack! Both rakes wielders were charging, and my fight or flight juices started surging, and abruptly changing my mind state. I heard a scream to the left and quickly looked to see Inius' unarmored body falling face down, getting brutally struck in the neck with the points of a rakes. _By the Nine_!

I quickly released my frost spell, saving all attempts to comprehend this nightmarish flood for later. There were so many questions, but I had to deal with the immediate threat first.

The raging Cathay-Raht staggered back with the hit. I began charging him, to protect or avenge the Sergeant. No one knew how many more threats there were, but he was the most imperative currently to deal with.

He began reorienting right as I came in range.

My shortsword buried itself into the local's side. He staggered back and quickly fell.

I heard more chaos to the right, and turned to see Deechana kicking an attacker in the gut. When the catman hunched over the Argonian cleaved his spine. But all the noise made it clear they were far more aggressors in the area.

I quickly turned back to Inius, aware of the many dangers flying around, but he still did not move, three bloody holes in his neck.

Then I heard the harsh sound of a fireball careening! I whipped towards its direction only to hear an impact! Deechana started screaming horribly, flailing and then hitting the ground in a roll to try to smother the abominable chemical reaction! This was terrifying!

The bastard who did it was by the chapel ruins. I launched my spell towards him, mind buzzing with the various angles I myself could be attacked from. As it flew he shot another fireball in the Argonian's direction, inhumanly focused on destruction with little attention his own peril.

My frigid projection hit the mage in the arm, but his own fire had again hit Deechana! The noble Argonian had no doubt already become horribly disfigured.

"Cover! We need cover!" cried Broder. He began bolting leftward, focused on a spot out of view. It was dangerous to stay out here, but the others I would be sentencing to their dooms by leaving.

The fire-shooter was recovering, but I morbidly noticed I could not hear Deechana anymore.

"C'mon, all of you!" the Imperial Private shouted. I should have been the one giving orders, but was in a state of crippling indecision. Should I stay or leave for shelter?

But dragging either to safety would put me a nearly unbeatable risk. I had to rip myself from heroic thoughts. I chose my own safety, but those two's well-being did not leave my mind as I ran in Broder's direction, who was pressed against the wall of the nearest house. S'Bassa had been the first one of accompany him, flattened against the wood like the Imperial.

I made it to the wall. Hal-Seeus was behind me and the Orc arrived behind_ him_.

Deechana's unconscious body was still smoking, another undeniable mark of the surreal reality our friend was gone. Jeelen was still in the open, shooting lightening a target I could not see.

"C'mon Jeelen, haul ass!" cried the Private. But Jeelen was determined to stick by his friend. Would he join him in death? Should I have been ashamed for lacking the same dedication the Argonian possessed?

The Private shouted again, "We can't haul him out of here! C'mon Jeelen!"

The Argonian twitched with an uncertain look in our direction before refocusing on the enemy. He was unsure, I sensed. But then his graze, a sad one, became locked on us, and he indeed bolted for our cover, but I knew the sight of our companion's burning body would never leave either of our minds.

Jeelen arrived as an arrow landed in one of his footprints.

What to do now? For a half-second I wanted to wait for Broder's command, but I was the one who was highest ranking. Yet as much as my mind buzzed I had no plan. We possessed no idea the extent of the threats we were dealing with. We were not even blessed with normal equipment!

Another arrow planted itself poignantly close, missing me by an arm's length.

_Retreat_, that was the only sane option, even if we were facing 'civilians.' We could decide whether to forfeit the battle or regroup afterwards.

"Over the wall people!" I ordered. I broke from the line and started running, mentally bracing for the impact of any projectile which might be shot at me. Broder followed suit so quickly it looked like we would mantle together.

I jumped and pulled myself over bricks without wasting a split second. I was in the air, then I tumbled to the ground, Broder following. I scrambled to my feet and dashed a few yards further from the wall while stabilizing.

There was a barrier between me and the rabid locals now, but not everyone else. I turned to the bricks expectantly.

S'Bassa hoisted himself over like us, even scrambling to our position, but the shouts of angry Khajiit were getting closer. Hal-Seeus pulled himself over next. The Argonian tumbled to the ground safely.

The Orc's arms could be seen, followed by his head. The scaly fingers of Jeelen became visible beside him.

But then something unexpected happened: The Orc took on a startled look and, amid shouts, his body started moving back down! The Argonian's hands too seemed to be gripping with a new desperation! They were being pulled back!

We immediately sprinted to supplement our allies' efforts, Hal-Seeus and I towards Jeelen, the other two towards Gro-Karlog. The ungrateful bastards would not win! I heard a muffled impact and yelp from Jeelen, the Argonian already victim to their violence.

So close, I reached for the Nibenean's fingers, but right as I did, they slipped from the wall!

_No!_ By a split second he was gone! I had failed my best friend!

Could we go around to save him, cut through the 'civilians' and drag him out?

Yet, imagining what was the other side of the wall, that would just doom another one of us to a similar fate. Maybe if we were all armored it could be done, but not like this. I had to disconnect myself spiritually from him if this group was to make it out of here with the least deaths.

But Gro-Karlog, the other Legion brother, could still be saved! I moved to add to the two grasps already pulling the Orc, even with the horrid sounds of Jeelen being beaten. There was a lump in my throat as I pulled the Private's left arm. Strengths on both sides of the bricks seemed evenly matched, and I could only imagine the horrific uncertainty Gro-Karlog was feeling.

Yet then S'Bassa's hands came too. That tipped the balance in our favor. Yes, another brother would not die!

We tugged. Slowly his body was moving towards us. Private Gro-Karlog would live to see another day, even if four of our friends would not.

But, grimly, I noticed Jeelen had gone silent; he was dead. And that meant they were done with him...and that meant more would start working on tugging the Orc!

Just as I dreaded: the oppositional pull get stronger, and stronger. Hope was getting sucked away with the Private. It was nearly mind boggling the kind of defeat we were looking at. The four of us pulled with all our mite, digging our feet into the ground, but the Legionnaire's body kept moving towards the group of belligerents.

I realized we could not get any stronger. All I could do was decrease the risks in our retreat.

"Go! It's too late for him!" I commanded and released my grasp as something sank inside me. I turned and started running.

But the others were not following. I pivoted and looked back.

"Go!" Kae'tar may have taken my two closest friends, but this Private would be the last one the village could claim. I would see to that!

S'Bassa released his grip, and then as the Orc quickly began falling back into the crowd, the other two almost immediately followed before they would get dragged over the bricks themselves. The Private was a lost cause, I just hoped it would end quickly for him, and that he knew my heart was as broken by this as his.

"Run!" I yelled, gesturing them obtusely and then bolting further through the jungle, no aim, no destination, feeling horrible. I did not know where we were going, just knew to run; that was all that was left for us right now. Everything else the locals had taken.

I tripped over a root but immediately got back up with dirtied hands and stumbled forwards until I was running again.

My two closest comrades lied disgracefully broken in the awful village, neither granted quick deaths. The Gro-Karlog was left to the mercy of the savages by my orders as well. In that way, it was even worse than Cori Daglade. History repeated itself, Elsweyr was Elsweyr, and I was naive to think what had happened near Dune was not a reflection of the province's dynamics.

Five of our soldiers were dead from a single ambush. Our fellow Nonarians had brutally killed them. And for what? Because we had arrived too late?

Branches and leaves and ferns slapped my sides as my comrades' feet pounded in tail. Broder was running faster than I thought anyone could with armor. What would it be like when this all sunk in? Were Broder and Gro-Karlog good friends too? For now, though, we only obeyed our feral juices which urged us onwards.

A retreat, that was the first order I had given to a squad under my command!

Then Broder collapsed. My head prickled metallically as I whipped around figuring it was an enemy attack. Another metal-tipped crossbow bolt?

But nothing but greenery, none of that horrible town or its residents, could be seen, and the Imperial was panting wildly, clearly alive. He was just fatigued from running so hard. Kae'tar even pried our breathe from us.

He rolled over unto his back. My own heart was beating fast. Sweat slid down my brow.

It was as good a time as any for all of us to stop.

I was just starting to collect my thoughts, my horrible thoughts. All that shouting, an axe in Lelles' head, Deechana's smoking body...at least the Orc was probably deid quickly, likely they had pulled off his helmet and struck him a fatal blow to the head. Regardless, it was disgusting to imagine the bodies of our friends left with those people, but it was necessity so we four could fight our righteous cause another day.

And the shouting, there had been so much shouting, but all in a language I did not know.

I turned to S'Bassa, conscious he looked like those attacked us, but firmly not holding it against him. I pushed out the words, "What were they yelling at us?" My voice was broken. I forgot I had been holding back tears.

The Khajiit said through big breaths, "They were yelling all sorts of things. 'You brought this here!' 'You gave us no protection!' 'Is this K'Raska's new Elsweyr?'"

My stomach fouled. I mentally clenched my fists. That is what the massacre had been about? Hating us for the actions of the people we came to stop? The Renrijra Krin had destroyed the chapel and the villagers had rewarded them with five Imperial Legion bodies! When word got out about this horrendous ambush, the enemy would remember the dynamics of Kae'tar's anger, and consider it as an example for all of Elsweyr!

I quivered at the blatant injustice; It had killed my two closest friends!

Almost unconsciously, I half sat down, half collapsed onto the jungle floor.

I knew little but the present and the immediate past. My mind was foggy and disoriented.

I lifted my naked, dirty hands almost as if to clasp my face, but stopped half way through, and partially clenched my fists. I did not know where to go from here. Hatred towards Kae'tar came, but then was extinguished by a sense of defeat. Then it returned, a sharp lump in my throat and helpless fury trapped inside, then it was again doused.

The only thing we really could do was tell Rizzani, but how horrible it would feel to push the words out of my mouth!

Three members of the super-soldier program had been lost here. Kae'tar had wanted protection, and now our capacity to protect the state of Torval was drastically diminished by their hands.

Broder's breathing was starting to approach normalcy. The locals had not pursued us beyond their borders, it was just us and nature here. A bird fluttered across the canopies.

I had conjured so many heroic fantasies about this province, but had been left with a horrid nightmare, worse than the last.

I looked back down at my lap and put my face in my hands, apathetic to the dirt. I pressed my palms into my eyes, childishly retreating from the world.

In the darkness and swirling, speckled patterns, I wondered if I could have saved my friends. Had my self-preservation instinct sentenced them to death? In novels the mistake was always the opposite, people always sealed their own doom trying to save their loved ones, but here had unconscious selfishness relegated them to an early demise? Would I ever know, should I even think about it, or would that just eat me away, weaken me from within?

There was only one clear thing _to_ do: inform Captain Rizzani. Or at least that is what Hal-Seeus, S'Bassa, and I would do. Private Broder would have to go back to his own encampment, I inferred.

I lifted my head. Yes, sitting here was accomplishing nothing. I pushed my body up from the jungle floor. I had been such a lax leader in the Nonarian village; it was time to act like a real one.

"Let's go, we've got to get back to our bases and tell our superiors what happened." For once, I was acting like the strongest one here.

I turned back in the direction of the currently out of view path. I began walking. Then, I paused for a second, feeling as if my heart was stuck in Kae'tar. Men I loved were lying there, after all. But then, knowing nothing would be accomplished by being stationary, I continued.

What would Rizzani think of the news? Would he think Corporal Densius Fidelis had failed his role? During training they told me about Survivor Guilt, maybe that is what I was feeling...but it seemed I had given up on the Argonians with a cold promptness. Maybe that was a sign of pragmatic utilitarian prowess, or maybe it was a failure to my brothers. I did not know. But I was not eager to get back to the underground base, but nor was I eager for any future state of mind that could come from this.

Cori Daglade had happened again. My closest friends were dead, just like Cicero and Zaheen in the North. I had been witness to one of the most humiliating attacks of the war. With the dent it left in the super-soldier program, it was even worse than outsiders would realize.

Captain Rizzani would be shocked, and I dreaded what I would feel inside long after I spoke the news.


	23. Barer of Bad News

"The current emperor is Uriel Septim, Uriel VII, 24th of the Septim dynasty. Uriel VII has been, for the most part, a strong and effective ruler, but harsh and unyielding in personality, and private and secretive by nature, he has never been popular with the people." -Savant's Notes on Vvardenfell, "Imperials"

Mid Year 8, 4E2

(Barracks, Subterranean Sanctuary)

* * *

It had been over a week since Kae'tar, that horrible twist in my time here, the first thing to kill a member of our unit and it was under my command no less. I was heavy with bitterness and anger. I did little but lie in bed thinking of what had happened and its horrid injustices, getting up only for mandatory martial practice and meals. The ambush had likely made the news, and the Renrijra Krin must have been laughing their asses off at the outcome. It could hardly have been sweeter for them; With one blow they had killed numerous religious deviants _and _a squad's worth of Legionaries.

I was under the covers right now, the world seeming twisted at odd, unnatural angles from the rum.

The citywatch in Torval often became afraid to go out and do their jobs when the locals killed their men. I did not feel that way at all: I wanted revenge. Not on the people of Elsweyr; I had promised myself as long ago as I could remember to never hate an entire populace, especially not for their ideas instead of actions. I wanted revenge on the people who antagonized us. I desired to show the enemy that they could not win through cruelty. And I wanted to humiliate all those who so badly wanted to see Cyrodiil fail at Elsweyr's expense. I yearned to see those who looked down on this "war" become the pariahs. I wanted to see the Empire leave this land with honor rather than shame. I hungered to have at least one weak laugh after Kae'tar.

What little I had seen of Captain Rizzani hinted the man was also distressed about the incident, though as our commander he tried to not let it show. Still, those hard eyes had gotten softer.

I turned over, towards the dining hall door.

My two friends' screams never left my mind; It was always hard to wrap one's head around the death of someone close. One minute their body was full of intelligence and vigor and benevolence, and the next just an empty sack of flesh.

I heard, through the doors, the secret sanctuary entrance opening, some of my comrades returning from the outdoors.

There was some faint, muffled conversation from that direction, briefly. One of the speakers sounded unfamiliar; My mind began rushing over what this could mean! Then the other dining hall door creaked opened.

"Ah, Mr. Rizzani!" came a big and jolly voice, "I don't want to force you to get up and leave your meal so perhaps we should discuss this matter here. I'm not going to tell you any secrets, either way."

Who the hell was this guy? The alcohol made my thoughts a little sluggish.

"Crito, what is this about?" asked the Captain. The visit was unexpected for him too; For some reason that made me afraid.

"I've come to oversee recall of Imperial forces for Elsweyr." Fear had been warranted! I felt like I was being sucked into a vortex! "In all probability you haven't heard the news; supplies were cut five days ago following the news of that disaster in Kae'tar, and the Elder Council had already drafted a plan for withdrawal of troops in Elsweyr." What had haunted my mind had become reality, manifesting right in ear range! I sat up.

"The Elder Council...they cut off our supplies?" Rizzani half-asked, half-stated in a thin voice. My heart started beating faster.

"Yes, my good man, and the Empire requires you to prepare all the people and contents of this sanctuary for transport within the next two days. The original wagons and personnel who brought you here have returned and are waiting outside." Was I about to be damned to wither away in Cyrodiil, mind anchored to unchangeable injustices of Elsweyr while my body droned through routine patrols, away from an opportunity to make a real difference in Tamriel?

I stood up.

"You'll be transported back to Storshaven where you will once again be under the command of Colonel Orius." We would all be ripped from this ever-so needy land! I started walking forward, not really thinking, not able to digest this predicament. "I'm sorry to say, however, your recklessness with the secrecy of our new weapon has cost you a demotion. You will be Lieutenant Rizzani upon your return, with Sarrus taking your place as Captain." At the door, I reflexively opened it.

I saw the black haired, balding, red-wearing 'Crito' at last, and earned the focus of both men.

I spoke first. "Elsweyr...we're pulling out of Elsweyr?" I asked, voice betraying anguish and trepidation.

"Why yes, my good man," said Crito, still probably trying to take in what he was seeing: a random soldier bursting in on his meeting with the Captain.

Morrowind, were we withdrawing from there too? Would the Empire run in mid-war twice?

"Morrowind?" I asked, knowing every word cost me disciplinarily, but not caring, "Are we relocating to Morrowind? Can we at least continue to battle the slave trade!"

Crito maintained a polite demeanor, even as I acted so crudely. "Sir, young man, slave trade persists in Black Marsh as well, and as of now we have no soldiers seeking to put a stop to it."

Was that a spark of light? If one noble cause was gone, at least would another take its place, show the world Cyrodiil had not become weaker, only shifted priorities? "So we're going to send men to Black Marsh too?" Could I be a hero to Black Marsh twice, even if not a hero to two provinces?

The chubby man laughed heartily, which sounded like nails on glass and served only as an agent of confusion and irritation. The spark must have been illusionary somehow. "Heavens no, young man! We could never afford that!" I got angry. "I simply mean to imply we cannot fight slavery in Morrowind while tribes in its southern neighbor continue to practice it freely. That sort of hypocrisy generates anger, which we can't afford in this fragile era." _So we have to be wrong twice!_

"Fidelis, stand down," Rizzani said lacklusterly, finally doing his job. However, the Imperial put his hand up in a 'stop' gesture.

"We aren't removing our men from Morrowind, that would be letting good forts go to waste, but we are declaring neutrality in the conflict." Such cold cravenism! Leaving the slaves and Helseth's forces to their fate without even the grace to get out of sight!

Then the balding man turned back to the Captain, "Rizzani, we want you to make sure all the records related to the super-soldier program are well stored, however, so-" Now I was being ignored! My anger, my compassion for this province, all of it was a joke to him!

I exclaimed, "The Renrijra Krin and all the outlaws are just going to be able to roam Elsweyr now, kill whoever they please?" I was visibly shaking.

"Fidelis!" Rizzani said sternly to this slightly intoxicated soldier. Crito made the same gesture from before, which did nothing to soothe me.

"Corporal Fidelis...I know what happened to your men at Kae'tar. I know you lost close friends. I know you, understandably, want revenge, but that's no reason to sustain a war."

"An entire province is at stake, and you think we should base the decision to fight on whether or not we like one person's reasons?" Theoretical reasons, no less!

The man crinkled and screwed up his face, an expression half of profound perplextion and half of poorly contained amusement. I realized it was an odd comment, but still felt angry. "Densius, I am certainly not the one who made the decision for this recall, I'm simply following orders handed down by the Potentate. Please, calm down." Being told to calm down felt like a horrific indignity. Did they think because I was under the influence of alcohol my thoughts had no validity?

But I was at a loss for words. I knew not what to do and just remained stationary like I had been slapped in the face. Even as a hero to the Empire, I was nothing against the juggernaut of Cyrodilic politics.

"Fidelis, leave," Rizzani said.

I stood quivering. My conduct had been shameful. I would be at least _verbally_ flogged for this even though the Redguard probably liked these orders no more than I. But worse it had been futile. This Imperial turned around.

I began walking.

As I headed back to the barracks, I felt a sharp lump in my throat.

I closed the door behind me, severing the burning gazes and putting me back in my own impotent little world. I went and sat on the bed I had previously occupied, feeling violated and helpless.

The conversation began again but I did not bother to listen. My dreams for this province and fantasies of revenge had all shown to be hollow. Hope had meant nothing. Soon nearly every murderer would not know justice in Elsweyr. The citywatch was largely afraid of the guerillas and the Confederate Military was full of moles and turncoats in its higher echelons, the legacy of the previous Mane. Torval would be Dagon's sandbox in a week.

The Empire's glory was extinguished. For the coming months we would only work for Cyrodiil's bland self-interest. I was watching our flight from a province that had been my obsession.

I was now serving under a government unlike that of the Third Era. I was serving under one with humble expectations for our nation. The Oblivion Crisis and loss of a divine leader had taken us that far down.

When forty-eight hours passed I would get on a wagon bitter and indignant, like a child dealt unjust punishment. Jeelen and Deechana would never be avenged, and I would never see the New Elsweyr I had so long fought for. The start of the Fourth Era had shown potential to bring hope and productive, heroic spirit to Tamriel. Instead, it moved us in the opposite direction.

Could I refuse to leave? It seemed a surreal option, but what was stopping me? I would be hung if arrested, considered unworthy of existence by the people I was currently a hero to. But still, a soldier should not reel back at the thought of death. Yet what could I do here; They would take the weapons and the Hist sap from the sanctuary, if not me myself against my will. I could perhaps join the local forces, but it seemed a too thinly supported and bizarre fantasy to work in reality.

But many Elsweyris spoke Cyrodilic, so why could I not help their citywatch? Such might require some unofficial procedure to get me in league with the force, but they _were_ desperate.

Yet there would be better times to ponder this, as I had liquor in my system. I let my mind go blank.

I looked down at my lap and felt an urge to rip apart the world. This retreat would tear from me, from all of us, an opportunity to be heros to a second land, force me to watch from my homeland as all the work we had done to cleanse and protect the advance of this nation fell apart: in a profound humiliation I would be escorted away from this province by the government I had dedicated my life to serving. The opener of Black Marsh was still as much a cog in the machine as any other Corporal.

Then I heard a chair pushed out in the dining room. Some final words were said by Crito, and then he audibly opened the door he had entered through. Their meeting was done. Those five minutes were all Crito needed. Those were all the man needed to pass down the order to abandon Elsweyr to some of the worst men of this millennium.

There were no other noise. Captain Rizzani seemed to be staying where he was.

I remembered he had been eating, but he would probably have trouble finishing his late lunch now if he even planned to. I knew he was passionate about the Elsweyr mission, and I was this must have felt like a kick in the gut to him. Now he would have even more emotion to conceal, which I was coming to realize was a large part of an officer's duty. How rotten this all was!

Maybe I could give him some comfort, despite that he probably planned to discipline me for my previous intrusion.

I stood up and walked to the dining hall entrance, not totally sure how I planned to mitigate his pain.

I opened the door.

Rizzani was sitting with a solemn, glassy pensiveness, mouth on the curve between his thumb and index finger. His eyes darted up to meet me, but other than that the Redguard did not move. I pulled out a chair and sat down, all simply instinctual behavior. No remarks came to mind, though.

"Fidelis..." he said. But then he said nothing more, the name simply faded into oblivion.

"I know how you feel," I replied. It was still difficult to comprehend all that was ahead of us.

"It didn't used to be like this, son," the Captain replied with a breathy, reflective voice. "We didn't used to give up this soon, especially not to an enemy so...evil. Its the lack of Dragon Blood on the throne, I know it. Something of our spirit died that day with the final Septim."

I looked down at wood of the table, not sure what to say. I knew the Captain had a strong and specific theory of how that effected the population, though I was not sure if I believed it. But clearly something was different about the Fourth Era, some sort of false sense of sobriety the public had.

"Elsweyr was once a peaceful, prosperous place, Fidelis, you know that?" he continued. I did, albeit almost felt like he was talking to himself as much as me. "It was the epitome of cooperation, the most civilized place on Tamriel when Torval the Pilot arrived..." Torval the Pilot: who this city was probably named after.

There was a grand sadness to this. We were resigning to abandon the visions of two brave leaders, Uriel Septim and Ludovicius Ocato, visions of lifting up a long scourged foreign nation without, for the first time, making it our own. It had been a noble idea, but conquered by the obstructionist, inward looking attitudes of the new Era.

"When are you going to tell the others?" I asked the officer, who was in a state of disarmament I had never seen before.

"I don't know Fidelis..." he responded. He still had not moved his hand from his mouth. This was an undeniably tragic day for us. "I'm sure most of the men here don't want to leave." Indeed, I would be far from the only person saddened by this news. We would perhaps _all_ get on those wagons reluctantly.

But how would the Legion enforce a withdrawal if we simply refused to board, I wondered. What if all of us took the path I had grazed in my mind? I had never heard about such happening, so what would their counteraction be? Would they resign to the fact they could not arrest us and simply leave us de facto exiled from Cyrodiil?

Choosing my words carefully I asked, "What if someone refuses to go?"

I watched the officer's reaction closely.

Was he perhaps considering being part of such a bold act of defiance now that I had implied _I_ had?

"I don't know, Fidelis..." he said, "Would you try to stay behind?" His tone was perfectly neutral. Was I really seeing a door to disobedience open in his thoughts? I was stunned. But I did not want to say I might in front of the Captain.

"I'll follow your orders, sir."

Whatever was brewing in his brain, it gave my previously punched mind a new prospect to buzz around.

He pushed out his chair. "I've got to inform the others, Fidelis."

As he exited, I wondered what the future would hold. Could, with the blessing of our highest officer, our lives really take a story-book swerve and let us all embark on a never before seen act of internal rebellion? We would be rogues, criminals, but could we perhaps stand against the dark currents in Elsweyr?

The alcohol likely dampened the dreadfulness of the idea of going from hero to felon, but could my life be turned in that tremendous new direction in the next two days? It seemed almost hard to believe I would have the courage to go through with such a damning decision; it would be a kind of walking death to be wanted for execution by the people I once dedicated my life to. But courage was a choice, purely, so there was no question I _could_.

Perhaps I was riding on a few of the Redguard's words too much, perhaps the rum played a part, but I knew I would watch the developments of the next forty-eight hours closely. Somehow it seemed like something that just could not happen, that it was simply a taboo reality in the eyes of the cosmos, but I saw no reason it could not occur.

Maybe when the rum wore off I would start slyly interrogating the others, cleverly extracting their thoughts on staying behind. If I were to plan my actions further, it would seem that information would be useful. Or maybe this was just a drunken fantasy and I was not seeing its fatal flaw, but this was the last thing I could do for Elsweyr, and I had two days to decide if I would...and perhaps if _we_ would.


	24. Opinion Extraction

"When the early human settlers in Tamriel were only just beginning to understand what plants grew where under what circumstance, there were already mercantile caravans in modern day Rimmen; when the transplanted natives of Atmora and Aldemeris were vying for dominance in the north, the Khajiit had already developed a sophisticated culture in the south." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Mid Year 8, 4E2

Barracks, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

The rum had definitely worn off by now. In that time, Rizzani had informed everyone of the schedule for our departure and declared we would start packing the wagons tomorrow.

No epiphany had destroyed the idea of refusing to withdraw even as the alcohol faded from my system. Though I still did not know if I would even try staying, and dreaded the idea, now was to figure out how sneak the others opinions out without revealing what I was considering. That was my duty, to pave the way for the unpleasant possible course of action.

I would want to find my subjects alone, so only a controlled few would be given clues to what I was contemplating, even as I suspect Rizzani had a similar idea. Collects-Rocks occupied another bed here in the barracks, eyes closed and facing me so I could see that distinctive green 'V' of scales on his face. He seemed to be asleep, and I need not disturb him when plenty of others were available, plus his glum attitude towards the war (albeit in addition to many other things) made him far from my first choice of target.

Some people were playing cards in the dining hall. Our human Hist sap advisor was one of them. I had come to identify the other two as S'Nirem and Lieutenant Sala-Keesh. They were not alone and seemingly upbeat because of or despite the announcement. That made them poor choices as well. Everyone else was likely either in the training room or getting some fresh air outside.

The two I had decided were the best to talk with were Ah-Marz and Reesaka.

I would check the training room, then the outdoors.

I stood up. I walked towards the back of the barracks.

This was no longer a military base, just a graveyard for our last attempts to save Elsweyr. I had two days to perhaps change that, make our fight not end here, but something still told me that just was not possible, that I would never desert, just like a stream never leaps out of its riverbed on its own.

I got to this chamber's back door and opened it, then quickly turned to the training area door and entered, ready to see who was an available target.

The little room had only one occupant, Jilheen-Bolineena. Not one of my first choices. He was beating up a punching bag. Was he taking out anger at the recall? Perhaps. Should I ask him? I was not fond of his view of the locals, but strength came in numbers. He also did not strike me as the type to tattle. Yes, it seemed right to ask him, but first I would fake some of my own practice in order to make my inquiries seem innocent.

I went to the wrack of fencing swords and picked up a short one. I headed to a dummy and began striking its neck.

This would be my first conversation to test my comrades' mental climates, not counting Rizzani. I could start any moment. It would be the first thing to make this plan more than just thought.

I pushed the question into the heavy air:

"Pissed about the withdrawal?" I asked while keeping my 'practice' steady.

"Hell yeah!" he said as he continued his routine. "A bunch of fetching fur-lickers beating the Imperial Legion...what's coming next?"

I felt uncomfortable and unpleasantly aroused at his use of the racial slur, especially with two brave Khajiit serving in our unit. I was momentarily at a loss for what to say, but just decided to continue the conversation naturally; I would pour over his words later.

"Yeah, five of our men get killed and we reward them with a retreat," I responded, referring to rebels. "And I hear we're surrendering in Morrowind too." His hatred of the Khajiit still disturbed and puzzled me. Who did he think composed the armies we fought side by side with here?

"Pansy fetchers in the capital! Bet they'll be cussing themselves when the Renrijra Krin's own nation is our next store neighbor!" Indeed. How long would it be before another war if that happened?

"Yep, and who knows how many of the locals are going to lose their homes and immigrate to Cyrodiil to become highwaymen?"

"Damn straight, you all should have just let Kae'tar rot, but I know you were just following orders." Even with the touch of warmth at the end, his words were uncomfortably callous. But we both knew the injustice of what had happened there.

"Right, if we'd never come to help them they'd never have been able to kill any of us. All those men would still be alive." Jeelen, Deechana...that's what we got for arriving too late. _Maybe_ _one_ of them would have been lost if we arrived on time and met the genocidal Renrijra Krin operatives. None of them would have been killed if we left Kae'tar to the mercy of the guerillas.

The punching continued, and so did my slashing, but no more words. My mind searched for something to perpetuate the conversation in the direction of the felony I was considering, but found little. I could outright ask what he would think of staying behind, but my abdomen tightened at that thought. Still, I had gathered he was highly displeased with the recall. Perhaps it was time to talk to the others. I could always come back to him.

Wanting to wait a bit longer before leaving as to make practice seem my motive for arrival, I continued whipping the dummy. Still, I now felt uncomfortable in his presence knowing he truly hated the Khajiit. Catmen composed the government we were trying to defend here: he acted like the only Khajiit in this province were the members of the Renrijra Krin. How could someone who had such a distorted view of what was going on here have the conviction to risk his life for the cause? And if he stayed behind with me, how would he conduct himself? Might we be better off without him?

However, I was not even sure the idea of staying behind was anything other than absurd. I might as well wait before contemplating such questions.

It seemed I had disguised my intentions well enough. I decided now to move on.

"See ya, buddy," I said with a sigh, though not truly feeling the final word, disengaged, and went to go put the sword back. I was going to find my next target.

After returning the weapon to its original holding place I turned and headed back to the hallway door. Opening it did not reveal anybody walking through the corridors, so I looked towards the main entrance ahead. Now it was time to check outside. I started walking.

_Some_ useful data was gathered from Jilheen. He seemed like a person who might stay and fight, though operating outside the bounds of the law, as we inevitably would be in such a scenario, I worried what he would do for hearts and minds.

Regardless, on the prospect of desertion, hopefully I would get a more precise impression from Reesaka and Ah-Marz. That was not to say any answer I could get was alluring.

It still seemed like there was something hiding in wait to liberate me from this idea, an epiphany to pop this balloon. But no logic had come to contradict the thought of staying behind.

At the secret entrance, I pulled the lever, opening the heavy brick passage into the ruin this base connected with.

Stepping into the abandoned Elsweyri structure, I noticed someone in the corner of my eye and turned. It was Ah-Marz, sitting against a wall, a courier in his hand but lowered from his face. Though often a composed kid, the Argonian was showing a bit of odd conduct right now. It seemed the recall had shaken us all.

Our eyes met, and his hinted sadness.

Before I asked what was wrong, it seemed better to close the door, inferring he wanted that level of privacy and also making our upcoming conversation safer.

I pressed in the brick. The cleverly built door grinded its way back up.

When the slab of bricks had sealed us from the former alchemy lab, only the faint chatter of those topside who would take us out of the province could be heard. I turned to the Argonian.

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked. My tone was casual but with a trace of concern. Little did he know my head was running with tactics, purpose, and trickery.

"Nothing," he replied, probably brightening his voice consciously, then continued, "just wondering what this recall's going to mean for Elsweyr."

I decided to sit down to make the situation feel more homey, even though the ancient stone tiles were not very welcoming. When my buttocks touched the rock, I responded, "Yeah, I've been thinking a lot about that too." That was putting it mildly. "I guess the Renrijra Krin will take over. They're the most powerful armed faction here. If Elsweyr's lucky the other groups will realize that and there won't be a war." It was possible the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction would take power, but unlikely: the Renrijra Krin were the most established and prominent extra-legal faction in Khajiiti land.

Ah-Marz let the parchment drop a bit further from his face, "Things could go real bad from here." _Could?_ "You know, it turns out there was not much evidence the massacre at Fort Nomore was Renrijra Krin, but I wonder what they're going to do if the Krin really does stage a big cross-border attack."

There was indeed a lot to speculate about. I wondered though, "Who would have attacked Fort Nomore if not the Renrijra Krin?" Had they narrowed in on suspects?

The Argonian just shrugged. "I don't know that they've investigated that."

Ah-Marz always kept well informed, so most likely he knew about as well Morrowind, but I decided to ask anyway. "We're giving up in Morrowind too." Indeed, it would be neutering that would welcome Cyrodiil into the Fourth Era.

"Not surprising, in my opinion. If people won't support a mission that might have paid for itself, we can't expect them to support one that won't." I assumed he was referring to this war's coexistence with the sugar shortage. "The public will be a lot quieter now. Every politician's career in the capital will be a lot safer."

Yes, a calmer public. That is what this was all about, calming down the boiling spirits of the Fourth Era. War always created a storm in the minds of and media of the commoners, but simply letting a savage practice, such as slavery, continue never drew much of anyone's attention. And Tamriel followed Cyrodiil's actions, not the Dunmer's, so if Cyrodiil's soldiers weren't dying and killing in Vvardenfell, people would not take much interest in their affairs. Except for a few weak voices under the mainstream current, the people would be quiet again.

But I realized I had nearly forgotten my purpose in starting this conversation: I was trying to get the Argonian's opinion, covertly, on staying behind to fight, constructing the skeleton of the radical plan to defy this attempt to sell our souls to passify Tamriel. How to shift the discourse there...

Trying to redirect the conversation consciously, but starting with a casual tone, I said, "Man, in only two days we're going to be forced out of this place." I listened to his reaction carefully.

With a sigh he said, "I would have been willing to die for this place. I'm not happy to head back home at all, but what can ya do?" "_What can ya do?"_ Should I push this conversation closer to my intended question? I tried to imagine how likely it was a disaster would ensue from asking, 'Would you consider staying behind if someone else did?' It was doubtful I could get in trouble by simply posing a question, especially with the way Rizzani had responded. On the other hand, I still felt apprehensive, and had plenty more time.

The silence was opened for more words, though instinct told me they were not a good idea. Possibly that was just a conditioned reaction for a soldier based on a mythical reach of discipline, but I had countless more hours to pose questions.

So far I had only scratched the surface in this secret intelligence gathering mission, but it was early.

I decided to save the question for later, if ever. "Well, I'm going to get some fresh air," I said. Perhaps we would speak again on this subject. I propped myself up.

"Goodbye Fidelis," responded Ah-Marz.

That was the second of my fellows I had questioned. I had still not made any bold moves and still not retrieved the information desired, but I had not raised any suspicion either. Reesaka was the only one who could be outside, my third target, though I did not know if this conversation would go any differently.

I started walking to the stairs. Those who would take us home in a couple of days, if we let them, were just outside, and most likely Reesaka was somewhere away from them.

I walked up the steep steps. The sunlight was an ironically dark reminder of where we would be going; All of us would soon see that sunlight most of our waking hours as we were towed away from this needy land, back to mundane Cyrodiil while our souls will ache for Elsweyr. Would our super-soldier work continue in the Imperial province? Soch-Eena and one of the others had been stationed in Cyrodiil to work as Hist sap agents, but I could not imagine our numbers being much use in the relatively placid Imperial homeland.

As I rose to outside world, I saw the three covered wagons. In between them sat Crito and the three drivers: two Nords and a Dunmer. Occupying wooden camping chairs, they were discussing something over beers.

Reesaka was, as expected, not visible. I rotated to see if I could spot him anywhere in the nearby forestry. I stopped upon seeing an anomaly coming out from behind a tree. It appeared to be a tail; There he was, my final subject before I would rest and digest, then likely plan the second phase of this operation. Thankfully, I was still mostly numb to the grimness of what I was considering.

But then I wondered, what to say when he obviously wanted to be alone? Should I offer comfort? I had not talked to the Argonian much, but he seemed like the type who could take somewhat warmly to a concern-based intrusion. Yes, I was over-thinking this.

I began walking towards him, soil and leaves underfoot. Now perhaps I could know this Argonian as more than just the archer.

A breeze rustled the foliage.

Nothing brought men toghether like fighting side by side, and doing it in defiance of authority seemed like it could bring us even closer. The question remained, however, if going rogue like this was just a juvenile fantasy.

A thick jungle leaf swayed down from a canopy. Soon I might be away from this teeming jungle and back to the drudgery of Cyrodiil. This had been an opportunity to accomplish something grand, to set an example for this young, uncertain Era, but depending on my actions, or perhaps not even, it could all end in a couple of days with a mere whimper, the fate of Elsweyr left mostly to our morbid imaginations.

A dragon-fly buzzed past me.

The Private's tail remained still in the distance. He seemed deep in thought or crippled by heavy emotion, as I knew the betmeri rarely kept their tails still.

Those who planned to drive us from this province chatted casually in the background. To them their mission was simply a mundane duty. To us it was like having a limb ripped off.

I was close. The Argonian's appendage twitched a little bit. No doubt he heard me approach, and I was about to come within the far reaches of his vision.

There was another trunk next to his which looked like it could provide a good resting spot for our impending conversation. I headed towards it. Obviously the man was a distressed, so presumably an intimate conversation about withdrawal would be no trouble.

I made my way to the targeted trunk and took to leaning on it. For a couple of seconds I stared into the endless sea of greenery before shifting my head towards him and asking, "Hey, something wrong?"

A strange bird chirped.

He did not speak for a moment. He appeared to be looking down.

"The recall. I was hoping we would get to finish this mission." It seemed much of the crew was distraught about it.

"Me too." Those wagons were going to break a lot of hearts if I did not go with the act of grievous disobedience I was considering. But such an act still felt crazy.

I looked back out into the forest reflectively, not sure what to say, feeling small against this world that I only contemplated striking back at. The sad truth was that even the Opener of Black Marsh might only be able to be a hero when politicians he could never meet and never sway allowed it.

"These people need us..." the archer said. It showed something good about people that we could have such concern for others, but maybe the fact that we were ordered to pull out said just the opposite in a broader context.

I did not know how to respond. The words had just faded into the expanse like smoke. Though it was great to see such compassionate spirits in the Ehlnofey race, which his kind had recently been discovered to belong to, it would be useless across the border.

I finally replied, "Guess that's not enough..." It was merely a way to mitigate the silence. There was no where to take such words, but they were true.

Then he responded, "I don't know if I can even get on that wagon when the time comes." The words hit me. They seemed to almost fit perfectly with the information I was trying to extract. Now how to squeeze the opinions out of him? This opportunity seemed like a gift from the gods. Now just to figure out how to make use of them, quickly...

To not let the silence linger for too long, I replied, "Neither do I." But what to say next? Was I on the way to hidden treasure?

I then continued, somewhat daringly, with, "I wouldn't be surprised if someone here refused to leave. A lot of people are bent out of shape about this."

I awaited his response. I was anxious about where this was going. Though both attitudes he could possess had an ugly implication, I was nonetheless eager for an answer.

Still more silence. How long should I pursue this, what could I say next?

A monkey swung across the branches ahead.

There was just our silence and the jungle. It was probably too early for him to tell I was prying, so it was time for a more frontal approach. Yes. I decided to continue with, "I wonder what would happen if someone really did refuse."

"They'd drag them back," Reesaka instantly said with gruff and distant pessimism.

My spirits sank, part in discouragement and part in relief that my plan might have indeed been madness.

Any more words would indicate prying (it almost seemed like Reesaka was waiting for my last question), and were not likely to change his stance. There was no more to say on the subject I had come here about.

Some small creature rustled the shrubbery in the distance.

The late afternoon sun reminded me how small we were in the world. I was an ant. Could I be more? Perhaps, in an act of rebellion, I could be, and change the rest of my life, for better or worse. Or perhaps such was just a childish fantasy waiting to die. But this was far from the last conversation I would have to try to figure that out. And no matter what attitudes they projected, this would all be followed with much more thought in these next two days.


	25. Stay or Leave

"It may be fair to say that Elsweyr is in crisis. And it may further be accurate to say that such chaos is home." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Mid Year 9, 4E2

(Armory, Subterranean Sanctuary)

* * *

I put the final claymore in the chest and Rizzani closed it. He got to the other side, and we both grabbed the handles to lift while the two Argonians behind us were about to do the same with theirs. I had been given so much time to decide my course of action, yet already found myself on that time's edge.

We exited the armory.

Here we were, loading the wagons, each crate meaning one less item we would have if we stayed behind. I had not had the fortitude to ask anyone directly about the prospect of insubordination; so far, I was still too afraid to push out words. Hours upon hours of thought had amounted to nearly no purpose. But I knew next we would be carrying up the Hist sap containers, and once those were in the wagons, we would have nothing to fight with if we remained in Elsweyr.

Rizzani and I passed through the opened secret entrance to the ruin.

It was surreal and unnerving to know only my words stood between me and going rogue, defying the government I had dedicated my life to for one of its noble former missions. But my thoughts rolled back and forth between confidence in such an idea and disillusionment with it. Sometimes it felt like a holy and pristine path to defy Crito, the only way to true heroism. Other times it felt like it would be grievous mistake which would do nothing but get me executed. Yet no amount of examination leaned me either way for more than a few seconds.

We began up the stairs towards the surface.

I could imagine the others joining me in a choir of refusal to leave, but a mass desertion of soldiers seeking to _continue_ to fight for a cause had never before happened in history, so it was a paradoxical such an image came easily. I knew people here had golden souls, I knew they would not let a potential hanging deter them from doing the right thing, but at the same time I knew many had a dogmatic respect for established rules. This was so confusing! But every second brought me closer to the point of no return. I would have to decide before the Hist sap containers were in the vehicles.

We made it to the surface, targeting the nearest wagon. The other people seemed to be gathered, waiting for something, probably to get into groups of six and haul the Hist sap containers. I had been given tens of hours to reflect on the decision to go rogue or not, but now had only minutes to decide. The idea of defying an order seemed surreal, yet nothing stood in my way.

I felt so frustrated.

Arriving, Rizzani and I headed up the wagon's ramp to place the chest against the others. The pair of Argonians headed for the adjacent vehicle.

This chariot could take me back to Cyrodiil and sever me from this mission permanently. It was nothing but clothe and wood, but this wagon had the poignancy of deity right now.

We set the chest down and turned to head back out. That cursed sunlight would mark the next few days if I took the path of a coward...or was it the path of sobriety? Damn it, I had only minutes to decide!

We headed down the ramp. The Captain's feet touched the earth, then so did mine. He turned to stand awaiting Crito's next directive. I could sense a troubled mind in the Redguard, but if I did not let the words free themselves such righteous emotions would be fruitless.

Ah-Marz and Collects-Rocks came down too. There was distress in their eyes. Would they agree with me if I refused to leave, or was that naive? Were soldiers too dedicated to orders, or were these men dedicated enough to their cause?

They turned to Crito and waited as a bird in distance chirped.

"Alright, old boys, the containers of Hist tree sap are next! As I've heard it -"

"No!" The word cut the air. It shocked me. For a second I thought it was mine, but it came from Captain Rizzani. I turned to him.

Only of us were speechless, only the bugs chattering. His head had been stirring with the same questions as mine, but he had had the bravery to answer them. We were all looking at him, staring. He seemed older now, the man's eyes glassier. Was he quivering slightly? He swallowed.

"No," he repeated, "Elsweyr will not be abandoned!" His voice was commanding, even as I could detect an inner sense of frailty.

"Well, um, Captain, sir...I'm afraid if you refuse to comply with the recall directives, I will have to command your men to arrest you. However, I hope we can work this out without..."

"He's right!" I stabbed the air with my proclamation, finally saying words of disobedience I had so long contemplated. All the gazes turned to me. It felt like even the jungle was watching. "I'm not going to leave here either. These people need us!" Perhaps it would still be possible to surrender and avoid arrest, but if I had any option beyond arrest or surrender, I would take it.

Would anyone be next? What did this mean for my future with the Legion? Magically, I did not care now, but I could sense an occurrence this bombastic would not end here.

"Fidelis," Crito began, seemingly aggravated, "this isn't about the people of Elsweyr! I know you want revenge for what was done in Kae'tar!" That brought a surge of anger, why did he keep bringing that theory up?

"So what? The stakes are still the same!"

The air had become combative. The doughy Imperial was red. "Fidelis! If you want to play paladin, why don't you-"

"They're right!" came the husky voice of Jilheen-Boolineena. "Cyrodiil doesn't pansy out!" A third, already! This was almost unbelievable.

The official's aggravation had grown to fury, and his gaze shot towards the Argonian. He opened his mouth, but another voice beat him. "I'm not budging either," Ah-Marz said simply.

I was gaping inside. Soldiers were falling from subordination like snow in an avalanche. Desertion had not been a juvenile fantasy, far from it. I did not know what this meant for the future, but right now I was focused on the present.

The Imperial was baring his teeth as bugs chirped callously in the background. Four soldiers had refused orders to his face. My idea had not made me a madman.

"Well," he started, flustered yet forceful, "four of you are refusing to leave! Are any more of you planning on insubordination?"

He looked around with a burning stare. Would additional men join us? The moment itself seemed to be watching. We were witnessing a historical first, and the Hist sap had already found a destiny beyond the Imperial government, and that destiny was in our hands.

"I...I'm joining them," Reesaka said. A fifth! Now it did not feel hard at all to stand in defiance. I almost felt like grinning from ear to ear. The future might be unpleasant, but this was amazing and poignantly inspiring.

"Five of you! This what the Empire has come to!" the man shouted, putting a loyalist spin on his stance and slamming his fist on the air. He looked around, dark green eyes intense. His mind was evidently racing but getting nowhere. His face remained plastered with a furious grimace.

"Fine, I cannot arrest five soldiers with the remaining faithful members of the Imperial Legion! If any of you plan to follow orders, step into the wagons now!" He had verbally confirmed he could not apprehend us! I felt a rising euphoria, albeit it was muffled by the fact I was becoming a felon who could not go back to his homeland.

There were a couple heavy seconds of silence, all of us wondering if every single man here would stay in Elsweyr, before it was broken by the near simultaneous feet of Lt. Sala-Keesh, Hal-Seeus, and Pinarius Lactius heading for the closest transport, the one I had just placed the claymores in.

Now only three more remained without a clear side, two of whom were Khajiit. Would they follow the path their fur pulled them towards, or the notion I had that they were brothers in cause?

We held our breaths in our throats, but five of us already stood in rebellion. We could not be arrested. Our future was unknown, but we would not be forced back to Cyrodiil.

Those olive eyes continued sweeping back and forth, but we all remained stationary. Did this mean the three were going to stay behind?

Finally Crito shouted, "Alright! You've made your treasonous decision! I don't know what all you plan to do here but without logistical support you'll all be dead in a week!" The Khajiit had stayed! Though I hated to be called treasonous, even when I sensed some forcedness in the words, this seemed almost too good to be true!

The red-faced human started walking up the ramp the two compliers had. Would anyone change their stance last second?

When he reached the top and lifted and secured the piece of wood, he stared at us all for one more moment, the last opportunity any of us had to change our minds. Still there was only silence.

"Vontan, Reman, Fadren, put up the ramps, mount your wagons and let us depart!"

The three drivers walked towards their respective vehicles. Initially they were going to wait until they had retrieved all their supplies from the base, but I knew why they were leaving already: they knew they did not have the man power to take what was left from us.

Did that mean we should take what was on the wagons back? But most of the weapons were in the same one as Lt. Sala-Keesh, and trying to steal anything might make them respond with force. Plus, judging by our stagnancy, no one else seemed to think it was a good idea.

The first driver got in his carriage.

Where would our lives go from here? We could still fight the bandits with ogre arms and hackwing claws, but where would we get our intelligence from?

The second driver got in his carriage.

I was sealing my fate from hero to felon. But if we fixed Elsweyr, might we one day be welcomed back as heroes?

The third driver took his seat. That was it.

There was silence again: one last chance. But with all those who had supported my idea, clearly it was not insane to stay here. I would remain, carve out a future dedicated to the Elsweyri cause.

Finally, Crito called, "Go! Now! All of you!" to the three men.

With a whip of the reigns, the horses began trotting off.

The hooves against the dirt were like a signature on a contract, the most significant contract of my life.

We had slapped what had previously seemed like a sacred power structure in the face. We had broken a law**.** We had abandoned the Imperial military for one of its former causes. The Empire had changed with the Fourth Era, but we remained loyal to its dead visions. We watched the wagons clack over roots as they rolled into the leafy distance.

Finally I freed my gaze from those transports. A couple of others had done the same, the rest just continued to watch. We had made our decision. Part of me, part of all of us most likely, could not entirely believe it; we were waiting to wake up to a more mundane life, perhaps one in which this war never existed. But reality did not fade. We remained in the rainforest of Southern Elsweyr, bugs chirping and exotic birds tweeting. We had proudly defied orders, standing by the ghost of Ocato's vision.

What we had done was guaranteed to shock highest echelons of the Empire. We had made the super-soldier technology our own, we had shown our loyalty to the cause of Elsweyr was greater than ours to the new man on the throne. We had acted out a historical first.

Still, no one had anything to say.


	26. Arming

"The Khajiit who occupy the southern land between Black Marsh and Valenwood have always been a restless people, and prove regularly that nothing in Tamriel is immortal." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Mid Year 9, 4E2

Commerce District, Torval

* * *

We had got right to business, to replace our stock of weapons using a cash allowance Captain Rizzani had been provided in case of emergencies. The Redguard had brought along Jilheen, Collects-Rocks, S'Bassa, and I to make sure we would be able to carry it all (and, in the Khajiit's case, interpret if necessary). He already knew of the shop we were heading to: Adazzka's Defenses.

I was not sure if Torval was aware of the recall yet. I could imagine they would panic when they found out though, and the enemy would try to take advantage. I had feared what would happen to this province if the Empire pulled its support, and now it would move beyond the realm of fantasy. I would soon see the results, be close enough to smell the blood.

Cyrodiil was gone, but Rizzani seemed confident its absence would be complete: our government would not try to come back for us.

It still took some getting used to that we were no longer serving under Imperial authority. I would have to train my mind to stop going back to tier of the command structure which was no longer relevant. The Empire had become something different with the loss of the divine blood lines.

Turning the corner, the first thing I noticed was a squadron of Confederate soldiers patrolling, and then my eyes found the sign bearing a sword icon and **Adazzka's Defenses**.

Our Captain crossed the road, as my thoughts were coated in the notion of our new identity; We were an independent body, no longer serving an Empire. We were guerillas ourselves in a sense, but fighting the good fight.

He stepped onto the sidewalk.

He opened the door, S'Bassa following him shortly, then me. We were getting our weapons like civilians; no more tax payer funded weapon caravans.

The man behind the counter was the breed I was used to in my native province, a Tojay-raht, although his gaze seemed to contain some hostility. But the shop was well stocked, most notably with two beautiful Elven claymores in front of the cornucopia of steel and iron Redguard assumed his position in front of the proprietor and began to speak. "Hello, sir," the Captain said. "We would like to purchase some weaponry. First off, how much would five iron longswords cost?"

I wondered if the Khajiit's unfriendly look (because we were foreigners?) meant he would drive a difficult bargain.

"Five longswords...you will pay two-thousand and five hundred."

That was five-hundred for each! At the Imperial City it was easy to get one for half that cost!

"That's what you're charging us?" Rizzani exclaimed. "Sir, we have very limited cash reserves for our adventures here, and we have a large party. We're going to need to buy many weapons. It would be economical for you to lower your prices."

The Khajiit was standing with hard eyes and now folded arms. He was silent with a stony expression, before saying, "Twenty-three hundred. That is lowest I will go." Such demands felt like an act of aggression they were so unbeneficial to both of us! It certainly seemed the Tojay-raht had a grudge against foreigners. What a rotten foot to get off on, what a distasteful way to be greeted by the local populace upon our detachment from Imperial authority! Hopefully there was another arms dealer somewhere in Torval.

"Sir, you'll likely recieve all the cash I have on me by the end of our transaction if I can afford all the weapons we need from this shop. I think it would be better for your business if you decreased your prices." Rizzani tried to plead for reason, but I sensed it was pointless.

A little twitch of the pupils was the only response from the catman.

Then the Khajiit replied, "No, twenty-three hundred. That is the lowest I will go."

A frustration at how easy it was for him to make things hard for us simmered in me, even as I was not the one doing the deal. It was the unpleasant side of Zenithar's way, something that tempted people into the unrighteous means of resource acquistion.

Our superior officer looked down with a sigh. A simple act of commerce had put us in our first predicament already.

"Well then," the mustached man said, hoisting his dignity back up but maintaining a diplomatic tone, "I guess we'll have to look somewhere else for our business. Thank you sir."

The Tojay-raht would not get our money: good. That was the _justice_ in Zenithar's way, the teaspoon of sugar for the bitterness of offensive prices.

The human turned, going between Jilheen and I walking through the door. The shopkeeper did not deny there was another place to purchase weapons, indicating there almost definitely was, so at least this was not a crippling predicament.

Exiting the shop, I saw it had become cloudier outside.

After Jilheen closed the door behind us, he said in a sharp and loud whisper, "Hey, Rocks, you can pick locks. Maybe you should sneak into that guy's shop and kill him tonight. _Then_ we'll get our weapons cheaper!" Those words jarred me. They sounded perfectly serious too!

"I would never do that!" the Private exclaimed. I was glad to hear that response. I was liking Jilheen-Bolineena less and less as he exposed more of his ugly mind.

"Yeah, well maybe I'll run it by the Captain. Maybe." the Argonian replied, though I knew Captain Rizzani would think it an outrageous idea too. Such a murder would create a hundred new guerillas if it were ever traced back to us!

I had never felt so spiritually distant from a Legion brother before. Was Jilheen someone to worry about?

Ahead, I noticed S'Bassa was asking a local something, with our officer observing attentively. After the Suthay disengaged from our interpreter, S'Bassa turned to the Redguard and relayed the information.

Then Rizzani turned to us and let us into their world. "There's another shop in south half of the city, in the Ri'Kissa District." Good. The previous attempt at business had simply been a waste of time. The Captain got back to his confident stride forwards.

Once we got weapons there was still a lot more to consider, especially how the populace would react to the news of the recall if it had not already reached them. (I inferred the Mane knew but wanted to hold-off a public panic as long as possible.) I could imagine chaos when it arrived. Right now the streets were almost empty, though. While there was a vast stretch of buildings ahead, only several people were visible: a woman walked speedily across the other sidewalk with a sack, a couple of men conversed in the distance, a raggedy beggar slumped against a wall, and a pair of Ohmes-raht members of the city watch stood guard on the next corner. Other than that, there was no one. Torval's eerie desolanteness was no doubt a product of the local dangers. What would this city look like when they knew the Imperial forces had left? More desolateness, or breaking windows, looting, and violence?

In the Dunmer's province another withdrawal was being planned. I remembered Crito's justification. _"We cannot fight slavery in Morrowind while tribes in its southern neighbor continue to practice it freely. That sort of hypocrisy generates anger." _Those words had irritated me, but taken at face value, detached of any implied condemnation, they were true. An inconsistently upheld moral standard generated more anger than no moral standards. I knew that from previous experience in political discourse; The Empire's support of slavery in Morrowind had been virtually unknown to the general public until the war against slavery began. After that, it was something every politically feisty Arcane University student had become aware of and a knowledge which spread like wildfire. It seemed being wrong twice avoided more scorn than being wrong once. Could that dynamic matter here? As an independent body, free of any invisible superior officers, I inferred we would have to make pseudo-political decisions in addition to strategic and tactical ones.

I once again thought of what a daunting endeavor this was for a mere seven people; keeping supplied, keeping informed, and keeping ethical, all those factors which had been handled from higher tiers now fell to no one higher than Captain Rizzani. The man had said he had some substantial intelligence left, enough to plan future missions, but even so, that would not last long judging by how frequently he met with Lelles before.

A Dagi-raht came around the corner riding and simultaneously conversing with a Senche.

We were about to round that same corner. Jilheen-Bolineena cleared his throat.

The two leading our group turned, as did we.

There was another destitute-looking citizen ahead, a scruffily dressed Tojay. A burnt husk of a house was visible. It could have been his former home. The violence here had led to a lot of destroyed property, and driven many people to the streets.

We turned a second corner. I saw the familiar sign, "**This Evening Inn**" That place had served our group the only meal we had eaten in the city.

A lady screamed ahead. I froze and shot my eyes in direction of the noise to see a blur running leftward. Atop the district wall an archer had lifted his bow, already loaded, and shot. The projectile buzzed downward, but thief ran out of sight into an alley as it anti-climactically pegged the sidewalk. As a peacekeeper, my impulse was to chase him, but our bodies were too important given their impending roles to play hero.

That guard was who would let us into the next district, though his focus dutifully remained on watching for the criminal's reemergence. I was glad I was in the company of a watchman. Part of me feared the thief might return for our precious cash, which could be enough to destroy our mission in its infancy, but most likely he would not push his luck thanks to the archer.

The lady began sobbing, but it was just Elsweyr being Elsweyr, grim as it was. This is probably what every city besides those in the Friendly Hook looked like today. Handling an uprising simply put too much strain on the law enforcement body to effectively protect its citizens.

We were approaching the portal, almost having transversed the first district, heading to the second. The watchman above seemed to not notice us. Perhaps one of us would yell up to him, though I did not like the idea of interfering with a guard's work, even so briefly.

We stopped infront of the doors.

Captain Rizzani looked up, whistled, and waved. The catman's gaze shot down to acknowledge us, and he nodded.

The portals started to open.

What was presented was even more bare, with only a scared looking Ohmes child and what appeared to be an Orc mercenary walking the streets. We passed under the district entrance. Somewhere distant, perhaps around the next corner, I could hear a loud Ta'agran monologue. Preaching, it sounded like. I was used to religious zealots and lunatics in the Imperial City, so paid it little mind.

What might distinguish this district? As we walked, I surveyed the buildings. Every Imperial City district had a landmark or unique purpose. There were several two storey buildings visible, implying some degree of wealth by Elsweyr's standards.

"What's this district called?" I decided to ask the Captain.

"Cartha Gardens, next district is the one we want." I could not see any gardens, but then again never saw any in the Elven Gardens District. Gardens would probably be decadence in Elsweyr, however. Though this looked like one of the richer areas of Torval, the nation's inferior economy was evident still in the mossy and unpainted wood that compromised most of the buildings.

The preaching continued. I wondered if it was religious, political, or simply nonsensical in nature.

We were getting close to the corner. Judging by the ranting's current volume the speaker was just around it. He must have been passionate about his message if he would preach when the streets were nearly empty. As we neared the corner I could see he had a Cathay-raht and a Senche spectator, but that was it.

We turned, revealing the aged but virile Khajiit shouting and making grandiose gestures atop a small box.

As we passed, we could already see another set of doors in the distance. No guard atop the wall was visible, however.

A squirrely, probably skooma-addicted, beggar crossed the street in front of us. Other than that there was little to see. There were no signs on any of the bulidings and all the houses had the same South-Elsweyri design. There was an irrelevant cross-roads ahead, but no traffic. The streets were almost surreally bare. The most prominent company was by far the loud old man.

With nothing better to pose questions at, I decided to ask S'Bassa what the man was raving about, even though it might be enemy propaganda.

"So, what's that guy yelling about?" I asked our Khajiit, and swatted at a bug which had taken interest in my right eye.

"Something about 'thousands of dead innocents' and 'ousting the evil Mane and his foreigners.'" As was usual with such words, my body went into a guttural, defensive mode and blood began to simmer.

But that man lived here, he had to know who killed the vast majority of the civilians in this nation, and yet he seemed to be blaming our side still! And the fact that he had spectators suggested he was not the only one with such inexplicable ignorance. Such a misconception was understandable for a foreigner, whose only connection with this province was a some street talk or a couple sheets of paper, but how could _he_ not know who was the overwhelming contributor to the body count?

I did not have much choice other than to ignore it, though. It was not like I could turn around and start an argument with him.

We were in the process of a much more important job. We were here to set things right, until Elsweyr was so far improved voices like his would be drowned out in quires of praise, and these once xenophobic people would come to trust Cyrodiils. When there were no more murders, there would be no more murders to blame on the wrong people, and everyone but the most spiteful would be happy. Regardless, I wondered how the old man's views would change when Torval realized the Legion did leave; It seemed the city did not yet know. It brought to question whether we should advertise our presence and powers here, so as to mitigate the likely ensuing panic. It was probably something I should bring up to Captain Rizzani when we got back.

Would five Hist sap soldiers (seven, if one counted the interpreters) really be able to stem the tide in any meaningful way, though? But the voices of dissent always infused my soul with an angry enthusiasm for our cause, so even if this was silly, I felt committed to press on.

There was Ta'agran graffiti on one of the nearby walls. I did not bother asking what _that_ said.

We were close to the district wall. However, if there was a guard on top of it, he was watching the other side.

We placed ourselves in front of the doors, the final set. Still no guard was visible to provide us assistance.

Captain Rizzani looked up and shouted, "Hey, is anyone up there? We need to get through now! Could you please open the gates?" If there was someone up there, would he even know Cyrodilic? But I realized it did not matter, as what else could we want standing here?

The portals began parting without a sentry becoming visible. At last, this was the district we wanted, where we could restock our arms.

I could already see the icon for a weapon store, its name written in both languages. **Ri'Kissa's Choice**, it was called. I inferred Ri'Kassa, who this district was also named after, was some illustrious Khajiiti warrior.

The store was not far, but I glanced around this third part of the city anyway. There was little life here too, but not far a Confederate soldier seemed to be preparing to kick open a door, both him and his partner with swords unsheathed.

Indeed, there was a whoosh and a loud crack as the door hit the wall, followed by a blood-curdling female scream. It was an ugly business, routing out crime in a plagued city, and most of those who had to deal with aggressive law enforcement in such times were in fact innocent. But it was better than letting Elsweyr's diverse variety of murderers walk the streets.

I could hear the soldiers barking orders to her from inside, a child starting to cry as well.

Having not done anything similar since my time in Dune, I felt a bit uncomfortable. I tried to divert my attention by surveying the rest of area. Another Confederate soldier patrolling in the distance made it seem security was tighter here. I did remember Ah-Marz saying something about the south and north of the city being split between two different Generals. Maybe that's what this difference in security was a reflection of.

The commotion continued with something shattering, but my comrades betrayed no physical signs of attention. It was a necessity to keep worse from invading these streets. I did my best to ignore it and turned my eyes to the door of the nearby shop.

Rizzani's entered the shop with all of us in tow. I stepped in, and I was glad when the door closed behind us.

The store was run by a Suthay. It was as undecorated as the last except for a vase of flowers on the front counter. It seemed to be poorly stocked _unlike_ to the last, however. Only a few weapons hung behind the proprietor. The tables were empty save for a single blade. Our spirits had reason to sour again.

"Hello gentlemen," said the man with a polite smile. "How can I help you today?"

Rizzani made a sweeping gesture. "Is this all you have?" Despite his implicit role to remain level-headed as a leader, his voice displayed the same emotions I was feeling.

The merchant nodded, "My shipment was to arrive from Senchal yesterday, but with the chaos in that area things are unpredictable. Return in a few days and I surely will have resupplied." That was somewhat of a relieving answer, but facing two obstacles in a row had got me feeling raw here, not cushioned in confidence.

Captain Rizzani sighed but looked down at his coin purse.

"Alright," he said. "We'll take everything you have for now. How much will that be?" That amounted to no more than an iron claymore, two iron sabers, and a steel dagger.

"Eight-hundred and fifty and I will give you what you desire." That was a much better price, much closer to what you could get in the Imperial City, though it still made me realize how expensive it would be to get all the weapons we would need.

"Fine, you've got yourself a deal," Rizzani said, and took the pouch from his side and opened it to start extracting the payment.

I did not know how much the Redguard had in total, but this was not a glorious start, even if we had been blessed with a competing weapons merchant. I was starting to see why the idea of desertion in the name of continued resistance had seemed so odd, and I wondered what other over-looked obstacles might lie ahead.

Still, the real test would be when we were ready to attack the enemy. The real time to evaluate our significance would be when Captain Rizzani starting giving us missions. Then we would see the merit of our vision, and the fruits of our boldness.


	27. Rogue Mission

"The Mane, The Emperor, and The Count can give speeches, pass laws, and, living life in the open, explain their positions and philosophies to their people to stave off the inevitable revolution. Extralegal entities, such as the Renrijra Krin, must make our actions count for our words." -Ahzirr Trajijazzeri

Mid Year 10, 4E2

Hallway, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

"The Renrijra Krin's chasing artifacts," Rizzani explained as he strode briskly. "We're going to follow their trail, get some intelligence from one of their encampments and leave no one alive as per usual. You'll be working with Jilheen-Bolineena. We're going augment your capitilities the same way we did when you ambushed the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction." _Wings, claw, and imga feet._

The Captain opened the door to the transformation room, where Jilheen was indeed waiting. The human turned to me and said, "He's going to get ogre arms, so it should be a familiar set up." Then he headed in the direction of the blood bottles.

I turned to the Argonian, who gave a husky nod. It sounded like I was going to provide a supporting role from above while he raided the camp. I would not enjoy the journey there with that particular soldier, but at least we were going to see some action already.

The Redguard could be heard picking up a wooden stand. I remembered what I had wanted to ask him yesterday but had not found the time:

"Captain, I was wondering, are we going to continue trying to keep our presence in this province and all secret?"

The officer set down a stand right before he looked up to respond, his face showing a bit of curiosity.

"Yes, Fidelis. What makes you think that would have changed?" He then began heading off to another area. That was irritating. How could the consequences of this path not have crossed his mind? Did the lives of all the city's denizens mean so little to him?

"Well, it's just I'm not sure Torval knows the Imperial Legion has left yet, and once word starts to spread I'm thinking there might be panic."

The man continued sorting through a pile of metal receptacles. Was there something I was overlooking?

"So, soldier?" he said as he stood, now holding two buckets and walking back to the vat. Why did I have to spell this out for him? This was getting annoying.

"So I'm thinking we might be able to mitigate the panic if we...you know, make it clear that we're here, that the people of Torval still have an army of - well, not an army but - a group of super soldiers protecting them." Having placed the two pails, the mustached officer turned to me.

"These are sensitive secrets still, Fidelis. For that reason we're going to remain nothing more than a reality and a rumor."

His words felt overly dismissive and closed-minded. It seemed a minor chance our methods would fall into the wrong hands, an insignificant consideration compared to the amount of ground the enemy could take in the event of a city-wide hysteria.

But even though my imagination could not assimilate the Captain's way of seeing things, it _was_ arrogance to assume my blips of thought on the issue were worth more than the educated and experienced judgments of our officer.

"Jilheen, bring me two of those oval-shaped tubs!" the human commanded as he himself went back to the heap of pales.

I felt a bit uncomfortable going along with maintaining our secrecy, but, as I concluded, a Captain's opinion had to be worth more than these images that passed through my mind. Besides, the elements of surprise we took advantage of with every mission would be lost if we let Torval know what we could do.

The two soldiers converged around the vat they were prepping: mine, I could tell by the familiar layout of things. The Captain looked up at me.

"Fidelis! Go fetch that pail behind you and bring it over!"

It was overdue he commanded me to help. I turned, obeying orders. I would do the same in the larger context; they taught us discipline for a good reason in the Legion; our instincts always fought to maintain our own uninformed takes on situations, which acted upon would destablize things and make operations crumble.

I grabbed the bucket and started walking back. The human was taking the tarp off the tank, the oval tubs being propped up by Jilheen-Bolineena in the way I remembered from the mission's preparation this mimicked; That had been our first official assignment as a Hist sap super-soldiers, when what we were trying was a brave new venture.

I placed the metal object down in front of the complex assortment of containers as Rizzani went to get gloves. I thought to ask, "So, are we going to stick to smaller operations until we get all our weapons?"

As the Colovian fit his hand wear he responded, "I'll be checking that shop in the Ri'Kissa District every day, but for now it's a non-issue. We don't have any other leads on enemy positions." He started back towards the vat. "This encampment is all that's on our plate right now. I've been sending S'Nirem to the city and if he returns with some valuable intelligence this time, that might change, but there's only so much we can learn from the civilian populace." Rizzani picked up the bucket I had brought over and began dipping it into the yellow goop. I already knew the Redguard was sending the Elsweyr native out to mingle with the local populace; the catman had taken a trip into Torval yesterday evening.

The Colovian poured the liquid into the oval tubs. The novelty of getting creature parts had worn off, as had fear of using the Hist sap, but in just over two and a half hours, save the time getting to this hostile camp, I would be committing my first act of war outside Imperial authority. We would be making our first mark as rogues, our premiere mission as our own body.


	28. Artifacts and Intelligence

"It is generally understood that neither proto-elves, or Aldmer, nor the proto-men, or Nedics, lived in Tamriel during the earliest years of creation. The Hist trees of Black Marsh, most say, were the original life forms on our continent, followed by the progenitors of the modern Khajiit, the modern Argonian, the modern Sload, the modern Dreugh, and other "beast folk," some now gone our land, some so shy or rare that their presence is seldom detected." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "All the Eras of Man, A Comprehensive History of Our History"

Mid Year 10, 4E2

Outside of Subterranean Sanctuary, Tenmar Forest

* * *

I felt tiny droplets on my face. The clouds had meant something, but our timing had been lucky as the sanctuary entrance was only a few yards ahead, documents in Jilheen-Bolineena's ogre hand.

He and I had not talked much on the journey to the enemy post or back, nigh an hour each, our few conversations lasting only several lines. Still, the mission had been accomplished well, three Renrij corpses now fertilizing the jungle.

The stack of paper the Argonian held was thick and diverse. However, on their contents, I had made few inquiries, and Jilheen had shown little curiosity.

The aperture was now in view, what had previously been concealed by ferns and bushes. The Nibenean transitioned from earth to stone and his body began disappearing into the subterranean vault.

My bare imga feet approached the rectangular hole and soon I too was trotting down the steps, into the ruin that was liaison to our sanctuary. We were returning from our first mission as an independent body, with ample spoils of victory, and just in time to avoid the rain.

When my imga feet hit the bottom, my partner (technically subordinate) was heading towards the entrance. He got in front of the wall and pressed the secret brick. _Home sweet home. _The stone grinded its way down.

The halls was empty. Rizzani was probably in his office, and Jilheen seemed to think the same thing, heading there.

He opened the door and we walked in. The Captain was indeed at his desk. S'Bassa was there too. Both had turned to face us.

"Intelligence! Good, soldiers!" the officer said as we approached.

The Argonian extended his arm to him, but the Redguard pointed to the catman. "Give it to _S'Bassa_, Jilheen! He's going to do the translation!"

The lizardman reoriented, complying. The Khajiit grabbed them. I noticed we had a member of each race in this room, although Jilheen-Bolineena was not the best ambassador for his people.

S'Bassa started thumbing through them. "Looks like some of these papers are from the Mages Guild!"

The Mages Guild! My mind went back to the theft at the Arcane University investigated by Sergeant Brolus' squad! Did this have anything to do with that?

"The interpreter and I have some business to finish, and the crystals might need to be changed on those Dwemer Magicka devices. You two relax for a few minutes and I'll come get you when I'm ready to head to the transformation room."

So we would be unwinding with ogre arms and hackwing claws. Interesting. Though as I turned to leave what was more compelling was what S'Bassa had said about some of those paper, and that is what quickly became paramount in mind. Had fate indeed given me a little present, connected the events of at the Arcane University to this fight? We should know soon.

Approaching the hallway, we exited and he closed the door behind us. Jilheen-Bolineena then said, "I'm gonna go take out some aggression in the training room." Apparently killing people was not enough.

He walked off, giant, meaty, white appendages swaying at his sides. An image of him breaking a dummy crossed my mind.

What to do with myself? It was odd to think of that question while my feet were furry and my hands taloned, but I did feel like a beer. I headed towards the dining hall.

Through the opened doorway I saw the S'Nirem, our other translator, was drinking himself. I knew he had been sent to city twice now; he would be an interesting partner for conversation. We had not talked much, and it was time that changed.

I opened the drink cabinet and grabbed a bottle with my scaly hackwing fingers, then turned. I went for the chair across from him.

I sat down, obviously an odd sight. He glanced up at me as my rear settled on the wood. The man seemed to be in mellow spirits, but as of now I felt upbeat.

"Hey," I said. "What's going on?" We had left our first mark as a meta-Imperial force and the mission went just as well as any other; Better even, as the ample intelligence was bound to lead us somewhere.

"Winding down, Fidelis," the accented middle-aged interpreter said. "You look good with claws."

I chuckled as the Khajiit took another sip. Despite me being the one fit with animal parts, he had probably been treated with more intriguing experiences getting to mingle with the locals.

"So you've been spending a lot of time mingling with Torval," I remarked, directing the conversation down what promised to be a rich path. I always believed the Khajiit of Elsweyr had a fascinating, bizarre culture, not the least of which was due to the way their society accommodated the Lunar Lattice.

"Yep," he said with a slight sigh. Then he continued, "I was born up in the deserts, in Riverhold; I always wanted to see the capital as a child, but I supposed it's had better days." Maybe interacting with the locals did not seem novel to him, but I wanted to hear all about it!

"Well, you must meet a lot of interesting people." The diverse physiologies of the breeds no doubt spawned a lot of interesting scenarios in their lives.

"They're inhabiting interesting times, I'll give you that much. Rumor is that General Do'Dara, the one in charge of the South of the city, has stopped following orders." That brought my spirits back to Nirn a bit. That sounded like a pretty volatile situation. I was reminded of that panic I worried about; did this have something to do with it?

"Does Torval know about the recall yet?" I was starting to feel an urgency to bring the idea of making our presence known up with the Captain again.

"It hasn't been confirmed to the general populace, but most of them seem to have caught on by now." And the results were already grievous...Surely worth more than hiding the information on our capabilities, even if it was in part to protect the secrets of _the Empire_, as there was a significant chance we would go the way of Summerset Isle and sell our military power for domestic services soon.

All I could respond with was "Hmh. I hope things don't break down."

I felt a guilt pressing into my sternum at what we were hiding from the Elsweyris. But was there a point in arguing with the Captain again? I did not have anything enlightening to say on the subject he had not already heard.

"Me too, Fidelis."

Simple words. We both realized there was not much more we could say. We were powerless to stop such torrents.

"So anything else interesting you've heard in the city?"

"That depends on how you define interesting, Fidelis. It's more of the same. Girl got raped in the Commerce District, public official got assassinated in his chariot in Cartha Gardens, and some miscreants let loose a couple of ghosts in the Hospital District, right in the middle of a crowded street."

"They just let undead loose on random pedestrians? Why would anyone do that?" The violence in Elsweyr seemed to be getting more and more nonsensical as the war went on.

The man shrugged.

He did not show it, but it must have been even harder for _him_ to see all this senseless violence, being they were his kin. Then he took another sip of beer, swallowed hard and said, "The people in Torval are angry. They didn't have to deal with this kind of anarchy under K'Dira." _K'Dira_, the previous Mane, a heavy-handed xenophobe.

We were always told whenever one of our people raped or murdered a local, it created twenty new rebels. But if even two people joined the security forces every time a guerilla or criminal violated a citizen of this land, Elsweyr would be the most peaceful province in Tamriel! But it seemed like the enemy never had to worry about hearts and minds, never had to worry about anyone rising against them when they brutalized the Khajiit, and knowing that fact, they killed so indulgently, even nonsensically.

I was about to tailor a question to that idea when the immigrant added, "And tomorrow is the anniversary of the night of the rebellion from the Septim Empire began. I warned Rizzani there might be a...commemoration like last year."

I remembered hearing about that onset. It seemed like even without the papers translated, we already had another opportunity to use our craft. Thinking of that, I hoped we would be able to better equip ourselves soon.

"Hopefully we'll be able to purchase our weapon by then." I remarked.

Someone entered, I turned to see Rizzani.

"Corporal," he said. "Everything's ready to change you back!"

That was the end of my interlude with the interpreter, the first one I had really bonded with. The conversation was surprisingly immersing for such a short duration.

"See you, Fidelis," the immigrant said warmly. I knew we would be talking again soon. He was full of information I could not get from just anyone.

"Bye," I replied, rising. Getting back to human now just seemed like a chore, and necessity. S'Nirem and I would be discussing Torval once more as soon as I could find him again. There was quite a bit I wanted to know about those people, and quite a bit he must have.


	29. Senches

"In Elsweyr, it is common for the shop-owner to offer the prospective buyer tea or sweetmeats and engage in polite conversation before commencing the business." -The Buying Game

Mid Year 11, 4E2

(Commerce District, Torval)

* * *

"No, I mean some of those documents Jilheen and I found at the camp were actually stolen during that theft my squad was sent to investigate." I explained, my Khajiiti eyes making his form clear even in this dark alley.

"Oh, wow! That's quite a coincidence!" Ah-Marz remarked. "Did you learn anything else about them?"

"I didn't ask."

The sun had gone down a while ago, but still there had been no commotion on the streets. I had challenged Rizzani's idea of putting us all in one district rather than splitting us between two, but he seemed to think the Commerce District was the most likely to be attacked by too wide a margin. After all, it had a good four-fifths of the barbers, book sellers, and foreign guild posts, all the kinds of people ultra-nationalistic forces would target.

We were behind a general store, with a street corner not far west. Across from us was the shop of the crotchety arms dealer who had over-priced his goods. By now, except for the skooma den next door, everyone seemed to have their lights out; Not that the catmen used many to begin with.

The Redguard, Reesaka, and I were fit with keenen legs and Khajiit eyes. Ah-Marz and Jilheen-Bolineena were each given an ogre arm. None of us were given more than that, to conserve resources. Collects-Rocks was sitting this one out to limit his exposure to the drugs.

We had finally bought adequate equipment. Jilheen and Ah-Marz each held claymores in their beefy hands. Reesaka had a new bow. I had a silver shortsword, just like in Legion. Back at the base we had much more.

In the distance we could hear a three-man patrol coming towards our area from the southeast. That was only the second one this evening (many of Elsweyr's security personnel were not brave enough to leave the barracks). It gave us reason to perk our ears up a bit, as a patrol was a prime target for any rebel assault, but there were many patrols in many locations in the city, so the odds _this_ one would come under attacks was unlikely.

I tongued my cold sore.

The allied squad was about the round the corner, I could gauge, but since they had not been aggressed yet they would probably pass by without incident.

"So," Ah-Marz began. "Did you hear they're pretty sure the man in control of the south half of Torval has gone rogue?"

"Do'Dara, yeah." Although I had not heard that 'pretty sure' update, previously it had just been a rumor. I probably should have felt something stronger at this, and perhaps I would with time, but maybe I was numbed, being used to seeing Elsweyr attack itself in the most outrageous ways. My mind came back to that little discussion I had had with the Captain earlier today on touting our presence, but his stance seemed immovable. His loyalty to the secrets of the Empire seemed greater than mine, surprisingly.

Then I thought to ask "What's the name of the other General? The one in control of _this_ half?"

"General Ra'Karri."

I got the notion the rest of the unit was getting used to pronouncing Ta'agran names. I had experience from Dune.

Suddenly, pounding feet from what could only be Senche came from across the road, followed by startled screams and a hard hit of metal to metal! Elsweyri battle cries started pouring from the alley between Adazzka's Defenses and the clothing shop!

"Soldiers! This is it! Assist the guardsmen!" Arousal flooded my consciousness as I ripped into battle mode, jumping to the top of the general store with Rizzani and Reesaka.

We made it without having to mantle, and pounded over the shingles. An attack had started, and it was no petty hit and run.

We got in view of the streets just in time to see the second Confederate soldier fall to the power of the Senche's swing, helmet no doubt caved into his skull. With two kappa-scale shield and scimitar bearing brethren having come out of the backstreet, the final good guy had already decided to run, his comrades lives snuffed out**.**

The giant insurgent began virulently chasing after him. My mind rushing through intricate mental procedures, I lifted my arm to cast, leading him with honed insticts. I shot the hypothermal cloud. It flew, an unseen beacon of hope for our friend, but all was in the hands of time now; I tensed over whether I would save the man's life.

The distance between the Senche and the Confederate was closing, but so was the distance between him and the spell, and I could see Reesaka too priming a shot.

As behemoth was mere feet away from the terrified Tojay-Raht, the distance between my own projectile and him was miniscule, but he moved his arm back for the killing blow. This would be close.

_Hit. _The frigid air met the Khajiit's back, freezing a blotch of his fur, causing him to roar and stop his swing. That was quickly followed by an arrow into his muscular frame. I had saved a life, and _we_ had no doubt redirected a lot of attention.

The Confederate soldier did not stop running, however, refusing to deviate from his initial, terror-driven decision and making it around the corner. He would not help us but I felt satisfaction ensuring one less family mourning.

The guerilla had turned in the direction of the attack, now humbled and befuddled. His compatriots were yelling something.

The Senche's yellow eyes found us, though just as our archer was pulling back his bow string again.

The Black Marsh native launched a second arrow, this time in full view of the beast. Yet, the ape-like cat dived between Adazzka's and the clothier's, an odd sight given his massive frame. _Damn._

Arrow bouncing off the stone sidewalk, the giant feline had avoided a third injury.

I turned to see how the shield-carrying pair were being dealt with. Jilheen-Bolineena was letting lose a final strike on one, the rebel's sheild already broken and arm extremely bloody, while Ah-Marz's opponent had dropped his sword and was running eastward, screaming. Almost as quickly as the guerillas had sent the final Confederate fleeing, they themselves were forced to beat it, the table-turning powers of the Hist sap at work.

"Ah-Marz, don't let him retreat!" the Captain commanded.

Then I could hear the whiz of a bolt below and witnessed one fly right by Jilheen from the alley. It was close enough to make my stomach jump, but the Nibenean's attention simply refocused. I watched him waste not a second charging the attacker, who had just made his or her last mistake and who no doubt was cursing the weapon.

"Reesaka, Fidelis, let's advance! Get on top of the roof of Adazzka's Defenses, go!" It was right across the road. We might be able to finish off the Senche that had evaded us from there.

Dropping down, I landed easily with the shock absorbent legs.

I ran forwards, towards the familiar shop. No doubt Adazzka was wondering what all the ruckus was outside his home.

I repressed my momentum at the sidewalk and launched myself upward.

I made it to the roof. Our scaly feet pounded the shingles. Had any guerillas stayed behind in the alley?

Getting to the edge, a small corpse around the corner indicated the crossbow wielder had been dealt with. But behind the clothier's shop, ogre-armed Jilheen-Bolineena and the war-hammer toting Senche were staring at each other, standing in combat readiness, deadlocked.

I began processing my frost spell to break this stalemate, mind orienting magical currents with a breeziness only years of practice could bring. I fired.

It flew, illuminating the night air, one of the many weapons we had in our arsenal. The rebel started to turn his head upwards a split second before the impact.

He cried gutturally and stumbled back, reflexively bringing his warhammer arm to his face, presenting the Argonian with a fleshy belly of opportunity. Jilheen-Bolineena lunged forward and made simple slice right through the Elsweyri's stomach.

When the catman's stumbled ended he looked down in shock, blood flowing amply, quickly dying the fur crimson.

The once intimidating catman fell to his knees, then onto his face, body splayed out, the injuries Reesaka and I had inflicted once again visible on his back. _Dead._

I detached my attention from that one and glanced around while listening for any more signs of hostile life. But only a distant couple of harmless sounding shouts could be heard.

We had made quick work of the guerillas. A squad's worth of Khajiit had been put down by a near equal number of Legionaries -former Legionaries- in a matter of seconds cleanly and fearlessly.

It seemed that had been the anniversary offensive, or at least one of them. They had met their deaths quickly, less than a minute after feeling rather mighty. They had found their ends fighting life-forms they never thought possible, but their stories would be told to no one, all of them now lying in pools of their own blood.

There was nothing but silence and a few ambient sounds of the city. One guerilla attack may have taken two allied lives, but it did not go according to plan. The Confederate soldiers had been avenged, the rebels getting a taste of the terror our Khajiiti friends must have felt.

"Alright," Rizzani said briskly. "Let's see what we can get off these bodies. The more supplies we have, the better. Reesaka, why don't you keep look-out over these alleys while we scavenge?"

"Yes sir," the Black Marsh native said flatly as the officer was already dropping himself off the building.

Hitting the ground with a puff of dust, the human headed to one of the scimitar men on the street. The corpse of the crossbow bearer, I decided, would be my subject, a rather well-bodied female Tojay, apparently cut down running right after she made it around the corner (likely to her bigger comrade for protection).

I dropped into the dirty alley, producing a similar cloud. I wondered if Adazzka was looking out any of this windows.

I walked around the corner. The backstreet was now a macabre site, especially considering the time-frame of the battle. It was a testament to the super-soldiers' power.

The catgirl was lying in a pool of crimson, crossbow still in hand. About four additional bolts were strapped to her right side, with a bloodied pouch on her left.

As I approached, the grotesqueness of what I was seeing really struck me, as I noticed she was actually severed in two. I had seen some decapitations before, but never that. Having ogre strength changed a lot.

It seemed like I was going to have to step into her blood to search her, too. Such prospects would have made a civilian squeamish, but my psyche was hardened from the Legion.

My feet entered the red and my course was steady. I crouched down to retrieve the blood-stained pouch. It felt like coins.

Suddenly Rizzani yelped from the streets!

My insides seemed to gasp as my mind shot back into alert. I immediately erected and turned to run back to alley I had landed in. Where had this come from, what was happening to the Captain?

I rounded the corner to see another Senche, boasting two Elven claymores, one bloodied. This was serious. Quickly the massive beast's focused shifted to me, and it began bounding in my direction. I was glad to take focus off Rizzani, but instinctually lept for the roof of weapons shop, having already seen what those blades could bring. I saw our archer pulling back his bow just as my feet hit the shingles. My mind was rushing over what had just happened! The Captain was struck! Dead? "Watch out, Jilheen!" Reesaka shouted as he fired an arrow.

The projectile zipped through the air and pegged itself in the monster's back as the beast was only a couple yards from Jilheen. The Senche swiveled in the direction of the hit. Then what happened shocked me as he quickly threw the bloody claymore in Reesaka's direction. The Argonian fell back deftly and the twirling wheel of death passed over him, albeit so closely it was almost like his dodge was synced with the weapons itself.

The claymore, failing, quickly sank in its flight and could be heard tumbling across the roof and into the adjacent alley.

The behemoth arched his spine and roared, and fell forward like his brother; Jilheen withdrew his sword from its back. The guerilla's life had ended, but my fight or flight instincts did not fizzle out, rather my mind immediately flung back to our leader on the streets, Rizzani!

"Rizzani was hit, we've got to check if he's okay!" I exclaimed. I jumped down. I turned towards the road and ran.

The Redguard's body growing in sight from feet, to shins, to thighs...but already I could see the red flowing from him. He was in critical condition! Fear thickened in me. When his torso became visible I could make out the gash shortly. His hand was over it, but his stomach did not move in breath.

Getting out on the street, making it to his draining form, I immediately crouched next to him. His eyes were closed. I went for his pulse, mind rushing with what would happen next! How could we save him? How could I live myself if my medical incompetence cost him his life?

So far I could not feel any pulsation. Was he dead? What could I do to prevent that? His life was in our hands!

I heard Reesaka, having followed me, taking off his shirt, no doubt to put it over the wound. But was it too late? I still felt no pulse. The rational part of me whispered he was dead, but I could not surrender to that possibility! I kept my fingers in place, thoughts racing with how I could possibly aid in this situation, and mentally begging the Nine to show mercy! Not another life, so soon after Kae'tar!

Nothing, still. But he was our Captain! We had to...to do something...not to abandon him! How I wished Hal-Seeus, the field-healer, was still with us, but the guerilla scumbags had killed him too!

Still he had no pulse.

It was impossible he was still alive. I was being delusional. He was gone. It was silly to consider otherwise.

The man who had started all this, the one with the courage to be the first one to speak up, who had led us up until now, was dead. He was cut down not in a mighty battle but in a surprise attack after we were supposed to be victorious.

I slowly stood up, noticing the blood-pool had callously expanded while I was attending to him. The shirtless archer looked at me with disarmed curiosity. All the eyes were on Densius Fidelis. I assumed they all felt suspense, even though they all knew what I was going to say. Softly, I pushed out the words, "He's dead."

The phrase almost seemed to seal the reality, Rizzani's body now just a bag of flesh, a tombstone.

The transformed Reesaka started to stand with a look of wide-eyed tenderness, leaving the shirt to be consumed entirely by the fluid, and I turned to see ogre-armed Jilheen's face, a similar expression. One rarely sees death coming, but in this case, we never even could have.

And this meant I, vulnerable, fleshy child was now their commanding officer. I, Corporal Fidelis, was to lead all these men on one of history's most daunting endeavors. The last few weeks had taken so many of our people, and all the death had propelled me, a lowly Corporal, to the top, in charge of this entire ludicrous 'adventure.'

I had held my own in Black Marsh, but this was different. This was a military operation. Many men's lives were in my hands. An entire city was supposed to be secured with our swords.

All the hostiles were dead, all the havoc they had wrought was avenged. But with one last strike, they had robbed us of our most important man. Now, all the decisions were on my shoulders.

I turned opposite the body to see our final compatriot, Ah-Marz, standing with the same look as the other two. I knew we all felt the same thing: astonishment, trepidation over what was coming, and a sense of occupying a stormy sea of unknown.

I had not been fond of all the decisions Rizzani made, but I never wished for his post, and fate had now handed it to me, perhaps ironically, a horse's load for my weak frame. Ethics, tactics, strategy, and secrecy, the upkeep of all these were now my job. Our Captain, our brave determined Captain, was dead. Densius Fidelis, _Corporal_ Densius Fidelis, was taking his place.


	30. Two Claymores

"[...]where worship of Arkay is strongest, the dead are almost always subject to Arkay's Law." -On the Preparation of the Corpse, Volume One: The Acquisition of the Corpse

Mid Year 11, 4E2

Outside of Subterranean Sanctuary, Tenmar Forest

* * *

The familiar shrubbery in sight, the silence had been deafening all the way back. Ah-Marz and Jilheen, each with an ogre arm, carried the body. After we had settled on a cremation in the ruin to take place once we had been biologically restored, only the greenery crunching under our feet dared speak. Though I was a mere twenty-three, I was now the 'Captain' of this unit. I had managed to survive and succeed in Black Marsh, but this was different. I would be running what was, in reality, an independent army...or rather an independent nation. Yes, we were no more than seven men, but we were not cared for by any power higher than ourselves: we were a nation.

However, this had to move one step at a time: I knew we all assumed I would be the one to break the news to Collects-Rocks and the translators. I would have to get used to taking all the initiative here.

The hole in the forest floor became visible, concealed seconds ago by the thick, Elsweyri greenery. But despite the same appearance, coming back here brought a feeling familiar only from my return after Kae'tar.

It was easier to see down with the Khajiiti eyes, but for once upon returning to our sanctuary biologically transformed, getting back to normal was not what was foremost in mind.

My scaley feet went from soil to stone as they touched the steps. I began my way down, almost mechinically casting a light spell behind me for those without catman vision, Jilheen-Bolineena and Ah-Marz.

The ancient steps took on a whole new meaning. This was _my _sanctuary now, and such thoughts brought a sense of burden, not power. It was no longer a place of comfort, but a stone bunker from which inexperienced Densius Fidelis would command a renegade army, the ghosts of the dead Khajiiti civilization and the hundreds of soldiers killed for this cause watching and judging.

My soles reached the bottom. I took a few more steps to make room for Rizzani's corpse. Then I turned around to Ah-Marz and Jilheen and pointed at the ground. "Lay the body here," I said with a grim simplicity. They gently placed him down.

I turned headed to the secret brick. It was the door to _my_ sanctuary now, curse it. Our brave Captain me had been the only thing between me and this duty, but I had never considered this coming.

I got to the brick, pressed it, and let the stone grind its way down.

Once it was level with the floor I stepped from ancient to Septimian. All three of our compatriots were laughing in the dining hall, and I would have to break that revelry.

Ah-Marz, Jilheen-Bolineena, and Reesaka were going for the transformation room. They knew _my_ duty, and their lack there of, without me even mentioning it.

I got to the mess hall door and opened it, the trio still howling. The guffaw did not stop with my entrance, of course, their blissful ignorance enduring.

It was S'Bassa, across from the other two, who first looked at me as his tickled spirits settled. He took a deep breath.

"Hey, Fidelis. How goes it?" the mood was friendly and joyful. I would have to break it.

"Rizzani is dead."

I had released the words, cast their spirits down into an abyss. I continued monotonely, "We brought his body back here for cremation. The ceremony will start once we're back to our original forms. I'm in command now."

The words were simple, no ornamentation. The room was stunned.

"Dead? How did it happened?" S'Bassa asked.

"A Senche came out of nowhere and cut his stomach with a claymore. We thought we'd finished off the guerillas in the area, but we were wrong."

The Colovian Khajiit's gaze sank to the table. This was, of course, all news to all of them, while Ah-Marz, Jilheen, Reesaka, and I already had already had time to let it sink in, to process it.

"Where's the cremation?" asked S'Nirem.

"The vault: You know, the ruin this sanctuary connects to." Our present situation was not very conducive to giving Rizzani a proper funeral, but we would work with what we had. Sometimes a soldier's death was as gritty as his life.

Nothing followed. Cards and beer were splayed all over the table, but I had spoiled their fun out of necessity.

There seemed to be no appropriate way to close this, so I turned, being simple like before, and just walked out, leaving them to stew in all I had dumped on them.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and nearly jumped. I turned to see Jilheen-Bolineena had been waiting right by the door.

He gestured for me to close it. Though not knowing what this was about, mind trying to conjure up possibilities, I did.

When I turned back to him, he said in a low voice, "Boss, remember that shop we tried to buy weapons from first, and its bastard owner that turned us down?" Yes, in fact we had fought right outside that store. "Remember he had two Elven claymores for sale, just like the ones that killed Rizzani? What do you say you give an order to finish that guy?"

I was taken aback. The idea seemed to come out of his mouth so easily too.

Jilheen had proposed killing him before for lesser reasons, and now it was returning under a new pretext. I felt suddenly self-conscious, not sure what would be the most dignified way to respond to such a brash idea.

"That's pretty thin evidence of his involvement," I finally replied. "Elven weapons aren't terribly hard to obtain."

"They are _here,_" he said almost as if he had been waiting for that point. That was true, given K'Dira's xenophobia and the Khajiiti distaste for Valenwood, which was the indirect source of most Elven arms. "Besides, I saw that pamphlet we have on our bookshelf, that Krin propaganda, in his shop." I had to concede, Adazzka now had hard evidence of criminal activity against him, as if Jilheen-Bolineena's wish had lingered in the mind of fate...assuming the Nibenean's claims were true, but such would be easy to verify.

I felt stuck, not sure what to say or exactly what to think. I realized I might already be making my first tough decision.

He continued, "Rocks can get in there tonight; he knows how to pick locks. He can sneak into the guy's shop and kill him while he's in bed." It seemed roguish, dicey, and so gritty, but there was significant evidence this man was a felon.

Still, the proof was a much thinner than what the Imperial Legion would accept before taking someone to the gallows.

Then again, such precaution might be the manifestation of the higher standards fostered by having a team of trained investigators at one's disposal: when the law enforcement was more skilled at gathering clues, more evidence would be demanded before persecution. We did not have any trained investigators in this unit.

Surely the trafficking of weapons to insurgents could take multiple lives. And it was not every day two Elven claymores left an arms dealer's shelf, Elven weapons were expensive. And the attack had happened outside that shop; had Adazzka actually known of the ambush?

He was _probably_ guilty...and his crime was worth more than a single life if he was. By my calculations and morality, that made the kill justifiable, though this certainly seemed unorthodox.

Jilheen-Bolineena had simply been waiting as I had deliberated. It was a grudging admission, but the racist and gung-ho Argonian was right.

"Fine. I'll give the order to Collects-Rocks to infiltrate the shop. If the two claymores are gone and he finds that pamphlet...he'll kill him."

The Khajiit's fate was decided, I would grant Jilheen his desire. I was already about to issue my first mission order, and it was ugly.

I turned towards the door, my skin sort of crawling but my convictions remaining. What a dark night this was, two grim duties demanded in as many minutes. Meanwhile I could hear the Nibenean walking off to the transformation room; How lucky he was to not have received my post! If anyone was to look blood thirsty, it would be me, for carrying out _his_ suggestion.

But I had to get used to tough decisions.

I opened the door, hinges creaking with what seemed to be extra volume. This time I was not disrupting any cheer. All the eyes were upon me.

"Rocks," I said. "I need a word with you."

The Argonian's expression was one of curiosity. He pushed out his chair, stood, and began walking over while the two Khajiit looked on. He had no idea where this was going. I stepped a little further into the hall as he approached.

When passed the doorway I signalled him to close the door behind him with the same gesture Jilheen had used; such imitation was unsettlingly poetic, I noticed. Collects-Rocks did so, then looked at me with those same wide eyes. Soldier or not, he was a tender soul, and not the kind of person I would want to put this sort of mission on given a choice, but with lock-pick and Mysticism training, only he had the powers necessary to accomplish this discretely.

"Rocks, we think we might know something about who's responsible...well, I mean, who supplied the weapons for Rizzani's death. You remember that shop, Adazzka's Defenses, where we tried to buy arms from but were turned down? We were offered prices too high, I mean."

He nodded. I continued, "He was selling two Elven claymores when we went there, I don't know if you remember. But the attacker who killed Captain Rizzani was wielding a couple just like those, and Jilheen said he saw a Renrijra Krin propaganda pamphlet in his store: Ahzirr Trajijazaeri. We actually have a copy of it on the book shelf."

Again the Argonian just nodded, same expression. Did he not know where this was going? Regardless, I would have to say it outright, to my chagrin. Being clear was something I would need to get used to being 'Captain.'

"I want you to sneak into his shop. If you find that pamphlet Jilheen-Bolineena says is there, and you don't see either Elven claymore hanging on the wall, I want you to kill him." _Kill_, the word had a punch when talking about a civilian. There was not an immediate response, I could tell the Argonian's mind had reacted more than his face showed.

"Are you sure?" the Private asked. I ached that he questioned the order I myself had so delicately decided in favor of. Those words gave me a sense of duty to not commit right yet. I ran the situation through my mind once more:

The crime: selling weapons to guerillas. The stakes: more deadly devices supplied to the enemy, maybe tens in the long run, used to kill Elsweyris and us. The odds: it would require some heavy coincidence for the shop owner to be innocent...

Added together a kill order seemed justified, but this was still a grisly affair. But morbidity was irrelevant in this line of work.

"Yes," I said declaratively.

I had given my first order as 'Captain,' made my first hard decision with solid reasoning, and I felt some satisfaction in that.

The Argonian looked down. I could tell he was conflicted about this kill's righteousness, though I knew what we had was too fragile and too gaunt that anyone would dare commit more mutiny. Though I pitied him and worried of Adazzka's innocence to an extent, my soul had also hardened in response my duties, as it often did.

He looked back up, and said with a sigh, "Alright." He looked down at the floor again. One of the interpreters coughed from the mess hall. Then the Argonian looked back up and asked, "When do I head out?"

"The sooner the better," I replied. "There's not a _tremendous_ rush, but obviously don't wait for tomorrow morning. I figured you should be back in time for us to pay our respects to Captain Rizzani." _A death, an assassination, and a funeral. What a nice night._

"Yes sir," Collects-Rocks said. _Sir._ It felt funny. "I'll get my things together and head out now."

"Good, Rocks. I didn't take this decision lightly. I'll be in the transformation room, restoring myself." I turned and walked.

I knew I had no honed insights, but after making my first call I now felt slightly more comfortable in this position, at least for now. Maybe I would start to feel caught in a turbulent, black sea again once I started to process this all.

I arrived at the door to the transformation room and opened it, where my compatriots were all stewing in the yellow goo in one position or another. I knew by the time I got back to normal, Collects-Rocks would have returned. Though innards had turned a bit at the order I had given, my brain remained steadfast that it was the right decision. Correct or not though, I did not enjoy it. I never liked killing rebels, and killing a potentially innocent man was much rougher on the soul. But this would be the first of many tough decisions; As commander of a renegade army, I would be tough in response. I had done it before with the many other obstacles the Legion threw at me. My soul could harden and bristle when necessary. It would do so for this role.

_Bring it on._


	31. Ashes

A/N: My dear readers, after this chapter, this story is going to undergo a minor retcon for the sake of increased Skyrim compatibility. Emperor Ocato will be rebaptized Potentate Ocato, and he will not be dethroned, the Elder Council will simply cripple the war effort, leading to the recall. It shouldn't really change anything in the foreground of the story though, so don't worry about back-tracking.

* * *

"When the great Senche-Raht comes to the Saimisil Steppes, he will find himself unable to hunt, unable to sleep, as the tiny Alfiq leap onto his back, biting him, and running off before he has a chance to turn his great body to face them. Eventually, though he may stubbornly hope to catch the Alfiq, the Senche-Raht always leaves." -Ahzirr Trajijazzeri

Mid Year 11, 4E2

Transformation Room, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

Nerfide left me pleasantly numb. After all that inner turmoil regarding the assassination order, such was welcome.

My legs were, by all appearance, normal, but I would of course wait for the hour glass to empty before getting up. The others had exited shortly before, my time was almost done.

I was simply mellow in this substance. All previous inner aching and turmoil were absent.

I watched as last few grains were falling, and decided to hum "The Fall of Dagon." _"Take heart!" the mighty hero cried! He looked up at Dagon, and cursed his foul name!_

And then it seemed the sand was falling no more...yes. My time was up.

I stood. Still high but finally getting out of the sap, I stepped onto the matt lying there for me. A funeral was waiting in the vault, but I did not feel grim thanks to the nerfide. This was an odd state to have the ceremony in, this emotional numb, but there was nothing wrong with lack of pain.

Picking up the rag next to me, I began drying myself, humming the two year old song more heartily. _And Martin broke the Amulet, and a brilliant light burst forth from it! _But despite my current tunefulness, the drug did not make me forget etiquette, so I would stop once I left this room.

A tingling came in my thigh, another tactile hallucination.

I sung quietly to myself, "And the fearsome dragon did bite his wretched neck!"

The drying seemed done. I disposed of the rag. My shirt and pants were waiting for me, crumpled innocently to the right.

I stepped off the cloth, onto the cold, stone tiles, and walked to my clothing.

I retrieved my shirt first and pulled it down over my head. Then I picked up my loin cloth and tied it around my restored private areas. Then I picked up the pants and slid my smooth, human legs into them.

All my business here was done. It was just time to put on a grim demeanor.

Walking out of the transformation room, my destination was the ruin. I made two turns in quick succession and saw the secret door already agape. Past the many of my fellows standing a little ways into the ancient chamber was Rizzani's corpse, a symbol of the tragedy to which I could currently feel no pain. Jilheen was holding the torch that would give the Captain his final resting, on the other side of the body. Despite my distaste for many of the Nibenean's outlooks, this was a moment of unity for us all.

I took my place right-most in the crowd, at the side of S'Nirem.

Then everyone bowed their heads, apparently familiar with Arkay's ritual. I closed my eyes. We began:

"As we commend your soul to Aetherius, blessings of the Nine Divines upon you, for you are the salt and Earth of Nirn, our beloved mother, and your remains shall feed her, giving nourishment to the flowers and trees and fruits that grace our lands. And as your body shall have its immortality in the greenery of Tamriel, so shall your soul have its immortality in the magic of Aetherius. Thus is the cycle that sustains our world. Amen."

I looked back up. Although we were likely not all Nonarians, the prayer united us.

Jilheen-Bolineena knelt down to touch the Captain's body with the torch. The fire, wavering and flickering, began to catch on the Captain's arm. Once it was gauged to have a solid hold, the Argonian withdrew the torch and stood. The Redguard's flesh began to blacken under the orange ghosts. So began the cremation. Our brave leader had died hours ago.

Fire was a mesmerizing sight, and poignant one given its current spiritual context. My mind's eye wandered to the world above the sky. Captain Rizzani had ascended from Mundus to the company of the gods. We remained grounded in this dank jungle, forced to try to manage the most violent province in Tamriel. I could have been a hero to Cyrodiil, possibly doing an interview with _Believe It!_magazine right now, but I had chosen this path instead, and it was unclear how much this would accomplish.

My hand felt as if it puckered, an effect of the drug.

What did the Redguard think in his last moments, as he lied there bleeding? Did he wonder if I could handle his responsibilities? Did he fear that prospect?

The fire had reached his shoulder. Its light tinted my feet and shins.

We started out as such a large unit, but with Kae'tar, the recall, and now this, our numbers had become frighteningly small. It seemed almost crazy to think we could still make a difference, but there was was no reason not to try.

It was almost dreamy that I was here, a deserter from the Legion, hiding out in some ruin in the middle of the Tenmar Forest, commander of an entire unit. The last couple of years of life had been surreal: Mehrunes Dagon trying to invade Mundus, me being selected for a special operation in Black Marsh to discover the hidden history of the beastfolk, and now this.

I could feel the heat from the chemical reaction as it dissolved the fabric of Rizzani's humble clothing.

I glanced to my left. They were all looking down like I had been, hands on their laps or sides.

But I noticed Collects-Rocks' right thigh had a large laceration. It had healed by now, obviously, but it had not been a small cut. That meant he had been attacked on the mission and not been discrete. Also, it was not bandaged, but rather seemed to have closed before he returned, which meant it could have gotten infected. I would have to inquire about the wound when this was over.

Looking back, the flames now engulfed most of Captain Rizzani's body. It seemed they had grown rather quickly, but that was probably the drug once again messing with perception of time.

Jilheen-Bolineena had sat down, cross-legged. I decided to do the same.

It was a strange custom, cremation. The most awful horror to one's body in life, to be eaten by fire, was a great honor in death.

Rizzani's form was all under the flames now. He would be cinders by the end of this, but his responsibilities would _not_ simply turn to ash. The Captain's position would become my position, the Captain's office would become my office. I would have to do a job I was not crafted for, the product of the haphazard nature of what we had chosen to embark upon. I would head there as soon as we were done here, get fully up to speed with the intelligence we had on our plate. I would have to study the available intelligence. Studying...I had not done that since the Arcane University, the institution which had shaped my destiny, both in convictions and in weapons.

I had a nation on my shoulders.

What would happen if we lost? Where would we all go? Not back to Cyrodiil, surely, or anywhere in the Empire. And if we won, would it be any different? How would the Empire see us then?

The Captain's body was now little more than a human shaped pile of ashes. It seemed like it had happened so quickly, but that was another time warp from the nerfide, of course.

I knew from experience that I, as someone who knew a 'frost' spell, was expected to be the one to put out the flames. I stood up and said, "Should I put out the fire now?"

There was a brief silence.

"Yeah," Ah-Marz replied.

Instead of using my usual projectile, I transformed the energy into a spray of cold mist, a process accomplished neatly even on the drug. Spreading it over the Captain's remains, it doused the fire to its death. When even the embers ceased to glow, I stopped.

Again was a brief silence.

"S'Bassa and I will handle the ashes." S'Nirem volunteered. "The rest of you take a break. You've been through enough today."

The crowd began parting. I could feel the nerfide was starting wear off. I would head to Rizzani's room. I passed Collects-Rocks as I-

Collects-Rocks! I remembered I wanted to ask him what had gone wrong.

"Rocks, what happened to your leg?"

He turned to me. "I managed to kill the proprietor of that store but the watchmen were alerted. They gave chase and one of them slashed me."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." It had no been an easy night for either of us, more so for him given his physical injury. At least all that nastiness was done with, though, even if the Argonian had a scar to show for it.

Then I remembered something I wanted to bring up with S'Nirem as well. I turned to the interpreter as he was helping with the Captain's remains.

"S'Nirem, keep paying daily visits to Torval. I'll ask for a report tomorrow."

"Will do, sir," the translator responded. He referred to me as 'sir' even though I was his younger by over a decade. It almost felt like a childhood game, but this was serious, this was reality.

At last I started heading to Captain Rizzani's office. I was not quite sober yet, but at least I would have the faculties of mind to review the materials available.

I turned the corner and opened the door to his chamber, which would become _my_ chamber.

I surveyed the room. The mahogany desk had rather large stacks of parchment on it. Clearly it would be a pain to take all the information on them in. There was a half finished mango in a simple clay bowl and a brown mug next to it. The empty chair beckoned me.

This was my future for the coming months, or maybe even years (if, gods forbid, this dragged out that long).

I walked over to the seat, its red cushion waiting for my rump.

I sat.

This still did not feel right, but that was irrelevant. I looked at the papers. There were three stacks on the desk. Two seemed to be piles of newsletters. The courier on top of the first bore the title**Past the Borders: ****'The Thalmor' Continue Gaining Influence Over Summerset Politics**. On top of the second stack, the parchment bore the wretched mark of the Fourth Era Pundit, with the title**Does Cyrodiil Really Want A Stable Elsweyr?** My blood would have started to boil if not for the drug. The third stack had on its peak a document with the Mages Guild's stamp...they were the files Jilheen and I had captured; That was just yesterday, although it felt like much longer ago.

There was also a piece of paper right under my nose on which the Captain had jotted down notes; a quick look at it, however, indicated deciphering his hand writing would be a headache.

Not quite ready to get to work, my eyes went to the mug. I did feel a bit thirsty. I reached and lifted it up. It provided a little bit of resistance, and looking into it I saw there about a third of water remaining. I brought it to my lips and drank. Finishing in a single gulp, I swallowed hard, then put the mug back on its coaster.

Our departed officer had probably started planning something before his death, that's likely what the notes were on. That was an intuitive place to start, to see what he had contemplated before I began formulating my own directives.

I looked down, beginning with the first of several points.

**-Houc troapc laok on clrcled nap area far M'Dazzir's sanofuorv, tcll them it will be small Clswcyri ruln, undergraund vault like this one.**

Doing my best to decode his handwriting I got: _[Something] [something] look on circled map area for M'Dazzir's [something], tell them it will be small Elsweyri ruin, underground vault like this one._

Trying once more...

_Have troops look on circled map area for M'Dazzir's sanctuary, tell them it will be small Elsweyri ruin, underground vault like this one._

One down, good. There were a few more to go, though they were likely to be a bit easier for me.

The next one read:

**-Clrclcs = other Renrljro Krin canps. May wont to elimlnate first.**

_Circles = other Renrljra Krin camps. May want to elimlnate first._

Alright, I was getting used to Rizzani's writing.

Below was:

**-X = some kind of store-house where artifacts would be dropped off if found.**

**-Some kind of Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction outpost in marked part of city. Will likely be abandoned by 21st. Training?**

**-Needs key?**

That was all.

_So what did I get from all that?_ _It all seemed to refer to some marked up map. There is a designated area to search for M'Dazzir's "sanctuary", whoever that is, and that "sanctuary" looks kind of like the vault._ We had also found out the location some kind of Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction outpost in the city. Is that what possibly needed a key?

I looked towards the stack of documents from the Mages Guild. It seemed the second one down was larger than a typical piece of paper, and craning my neck I could see it was a folded map. Was it the map which was referenced? While keeping the top paper in place with my other hand, I reached for it and pulled it out.

Unraveling it, it showed Torval but seemed mostly for navigating the wilderness north of it. Indeed, it had all the markings specified in Rizzani's notes.

My instincts told me to the flip it over. I did, and what was revealed was a larger, more detailed depiction of _the city_. It had a mark in far corner of the north-western most part of Torval, the Sugar Groves District, the district where Antonius Sugar was headquartered. That was the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction outpost.

With nothing more to look at, I folded the map but decided to put it on an empty area of the desk, so it would be the first in a stack of "looked through" papers.

Already it seemed I had a basis for a wealth of tasks to assign, largely thanks to Rizzani's labor. That was welcome, though I would still look through everything first.

I looked at the top piece of parchment. I grabbed it and began reading:

**M'Dazzir the Unpleasant was one of Elsweyr's few great wizards, and certainly the most contemporary one. Though his year of birth is difficult to discern, most scholars believe it to be 3E198, making him approximately thirty-one at the time of his disappearance.**

**This Khajiit was practicing magic as early as age seven, from what we have learned. Although almost completely self taught, it is said he was capable of casting lethal-grade destruction spells by age nine (though he never fought with or killed anyone) and invisibility spells by age eleven. He began practicing enchanting by twelve, already possessing an extensive understanding of Illusion and Destruction magic.**

**Almost as notable as his magical prowess, however, were his horrendous social skills. He was known to soil himself in absense a nearby chamber pot, and, a few years before his disappearance from the public eye, described himself as "glad to have no friends." He was prone to childish fits of anger, and often spoke and wrote as if he were "half his age" according to one of his acquaintances who knew him during his late teenage years.**

**He showed little interesting in garnering fame or fortune (except to be spent on future projects), toiling mostly for his nearly pathological desire to learn new spells and enchantments. However, some of his work became known to the public, and his schemas and theories regarding redundancy mitigation and praxographical spindles are still applied in the Arcane studies to this day. M'Dazzir was known for being able to make weapons of incredible power through enchantment. It is even rumored he had discovered how to create holograms shortly before his disappearance, something students of the magical arts have struggled with for centuries.**

**However, the Khajiit detested attention, which led to his eventual fleeing from the public eye. He used a refuge somewhere in northern Tenmar Forest for private work, and it is believed this is where he departed to, taking all his equipment with him to never be heard from again. The exact location of this sanctuary was and is unknown, though scholars continue to try to determine it, expecting it to be a source of much useful knowledge and high-value artifacts.**

Now I saw how it all connected: Those were the artifacts the Renrijra Krin was chasing, whatever happened to be at M'Dazzir's little lair. The Mages Guild had been trying to locate M'Dazzir's hide-out, and that's why the thief had stolen these files many months ago.

_M'Dazzir the Unpleasant_...it sounded familiar, where had I heard it before? A Black Horse Courier article?

Evidently there was much more information on this wizard. I put the document in the 'read' stack and reached for the next, one which had a couple of horizontal creases.

It was a letter.

**Andre,**

**Looking at the archives we recently recieved from Torval, it seems evidence points to M'Dazzir's 'refuge' being some kind of underground stone structure. The description of its interior leads me to believe its some sort of ancient Kadif storage area. I underlined the bits which gave me this impression.**

**-Incidio**

I was starting to see how Rizzani had narrowed things down already, but I had only scratched the surface of what was on this desk. This would be a long night. It was very late already, but once I went over all this information, I could finally kiss this arduous evening goodbye and wake up to my first morning as commander, to give out my first orders, surreal as the prospect was.

This, here at the mahogany desk, was my future in Elsweyr: the top of the heap, analyzing intelligence and strategizing to pass down orders to underlings. I would still go onto the feild given our pathetic number, but I had received my last orders. My men's lives, and our performance in this historically unprecedented endeavor, were all in my hands now. I could realize my dream, or could let everyone down, myself included, as Elsweyr sunk into the abyss, discarding my hero status in Cyrodiil for nothing.


	32. The Price of Power

"The obvious weapon of choice among the _khajiit_ are their claws, naturally sharp and retractable. Others, though, have mastered the use of the saber and scimitar, the dagger and the longbow." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Mid Year 12, 4E2

Barracks, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

My stomach growled and I could smell pork through the door. Silverware had been clanging for a good five minutes. The others were eating lunch right now but still I had not gotten out of bed.

It had been a long night last night, a lot to process. I had hit the sack after mid-night, and slept in my clothes. I had stayed asleep for a long time.

I recalled the set of orders formulated and pressed into my mind from before retiring. Our top priority was definitely the artifacts. If we could gather some super-weapons from M'Dazzir's former hideout, that would be a great advantage to us. If the Renrijra Krin beat us to it, it would be greatly to Elsweyr's detriment.

There was a large area in which the wizard's refuge could exist. It would take days upon days to cover it all. The documents Jilheen and I recovered from the camp, however, did show the area the occupants had searched. If this unit could raid the remaining two encampments, we would probably learn all the ground which had been covered and save ourselves a lot of time. As such, I would mimic Rizzani's strategy for the assault, using the same biological modifications and placing them on one ranged attacker and one up-close fighter. However, to speed things up, I would send two teams at once: one composed of Ah-Marz and the archer Reesaka, and one once again composed of Jilheen and I. Both raids would have to take place in the evening, when the Renrij would be at their tents. That would be what occupied us tonight. Duty called again. Once we had recovered those documents, I could send Collects-Rocks and Reesaka to search the untread land for M'Dazzir's sanctuary.

In the meantime, it would be smart to get S'Nirem to scout the area supposedly housing a Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction hideout. Then I could plan the assault on that...later.

I would spend no more stewing in bed. I would have to give out orders for today's missions, and also hear a report from the Elsweyri interpreter, if he had already gone out to the city.

With a push of free will, I rotated myself and sat up. This was day two as commander of the renegade army. I stood.

Corporal Densius Fidelis would have to get used to his duties as 'Captain.' It was amazing how the events that led me here, starting with one mere chance occurrence of being picked for the assignment in Black Marsh, had compounded on themselves, starting with getting picked for that assignment in Black Marsh.

I opened the door, and I saw pork indeed. Everyone but S'Bassa and Ah-Marz were eating from a nice pile of boar meat. Judging by the plates, it looked like they were coming to the ends of their meals.

Jilheen turned his head back as far as he could and joked, "Was wondering if you were in a coma, Fidelis." The obvious seat for me to take was next to him, right across from S'Nirem, it even had an empty plate. I walked to the chair, pulled it out and sat down.

Silverware continued to scrape and tap plates as I observed the odd breakfast (everyone else's lunch). My stomach was not much used to meat in the morning. None the less, I picked up my fork and jabbed some promising looking pieces and put them on my dish. I would have morning tea _after_ this meal; There was so much to process this morning, I would certainly need it.

When finished gathering my slabs, I looked up at S'Nirem. "You been out in the city yet?" My first words this morning.

He nodded, and politely waited until he was done chewing to speak. Then with a hard gulp he opened his mouth and said, "Went to the North and the South, though I hate to confess something is definitely not right with Do'Dara's territory. I think the old General really _has_ gone rogue."

The morning had not shown me any quarter. A new complication was thrown my way. But maybe having so much to sort out was a gift, because once I knew peace the gravity of the situation would probably sink in.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" I asked, putting some meat in my mouth, the first bite of an overdue meal.

"I met a refuge from...uh...well," his voice was wavering, what could he be afraid to say? "...Kae'tar, today."

I suddenly became extra self-conscious. My chewing became a mechanical necessity. I swallowed hard. But before I could decide what I was exactly supposed to feel, he continued, "Apparently that village has darn near become a ghost town. The crazies in the Krin hit it again, and all the guards have been too afraid to head back there after, well..." The ambush which slaughtered my friends.

A nasty part of me was glad for their misfortunes, as they were a result of their attack on _us_. But I decided to keep that to myself. I did not know what to say next though, so I put that burden back on S'Nirem by going for another piece of pig-flesh, one I would not enjoy. I stabbed it with my fork, and stuffed it in the starting point of my digestive system.

Collects-Rocks pushed out his chair, but something about his movements seemed unnatural. He rose slowly, too. Alas, something more to worry about? And then he showed a noticeable limp.

"What's wrong, Rocks?" I asked with a full mouth.

S'Nirem answered for him, "His wound's been infected. The scab and the area around it has turned a sickly yellow color. Hurts for him to walk."

Another problem! This province was showing me no mercy!

"You haven't used any tonics on it?"

"We don't have the right substances," the Khajiit responded. I would have to patch some other idiot's oversight. Had they been waiting for me to wake so we could purchase a remedy?

"Well, he can't fight if he can barely walk. How about he and S'Bassa take a trip down to the hospital? I know they have one in this city." Unlike Cyrodiil or Morrowind, that's where the healers congregated in Elsweyr.

"I wouldn't recommend that, Fidelis," the interpreter said in warning tone. I was almost annoyed; Why on Nirn could he see danger in going to a hospital? "This morning the city is _full_ of wanted to posters for Collects-Rocks."

Wanted posters, why?

Then I remembered, I had sent him to murder a shopkeeper!

This morning had been an avalanche of problems for an already well-burdened soul! There were so many criminals in Elsweyr and the government decided to gang up on _our_ man!

"Why him? Doesn't the city watch have enough to worry about already!"

"Well," S'Nirem gestured warmly to the Private. "Collects-Rocks is a rather distinctive looking gentleman. It's easy to pick him out of a crowd." The 'V' on his face. _Goddammit._

The Argonian had been innocently watching our emotions fly in his name. Yes, he would be an easy crook to catch if he entered the city.

Before I could process what to say next, Jilheen interjected, "You should have been more discreet, Rocks. Do you know how much it fetches things up for us when you're a wanted man?"

Anger bubbled up inside me. "That assassination was _your_ idea, Jilheen! Collects-Rocks just had the stones and the talents to pull it off!" Even I was a little taken aback by snapping at Legion brother, but he had some nerve to chastise the Private!

"Now don't get in a scuffle, you two," our elder said. I returned my gaze to him. "Densius, sir, why don't you and I head down to the Hospital District right now and tell them our Argonian friend's symptoms? I'm sure that will give them enough information to make a diagnosis."

He had volunteered himself to stop the fighting, even after he had just _returned_ from Torval. But I was still a little shaken up; The cruel irony of the situation was that Collects-Rocks was labeled a murderer simply because he had been the one to put himself in harm's way to make things happen. If anyone among us had the soul of a murderer, it was Jilheen-Bolineena; he had wanted to kill that shop owner over his prices, and he had only convinced us to go along when he provided evidence Adazzka was supplying the enemy.

I did not need to be the one to go, but getting familiar with more of the city would be useful for my new role.

"Alright." My breakfast had been ruined, but it seemed all my other duties would be pushed to later. "But we only have about three-hundred septims to spend, and a cure might cost more. I'm going to bring one of the weapons we recovered from the ambush last night to barter with."

I had lost my appetite already, though knew I needed strength, so I jabbed a strip of pork. I chewed as a chore, pushing out my chair. I would give the directives I had planned for today upon returning from the city.

I headed for the armory.

I swallowed early, the barely chewed wad of sustenance pushed down my esophagus. I was walking with an angry pace, thoughts swirling. As if the gods wanted to punish me for every little oversight, everything that could have gone wrong here seemed to! The cold, hard consequences of our actions not only seemed to happen without mercy, but also with the blessing of misfortune!

Opening the armory door, however, I also realized I was probably driven by stress to blow this out of proportion; after all, how often would the Private be walking the city in plain sight? And if he did, we could change his face.

Maybe I should take this as a divine warning against recklessness both physically and ethically. I did not know. But it would still cost us monetarily to get rid of the Private's infection.

I looked at the weapons on the rack. The medicine would probably be somewhere between three-hundred and five-hundred septims. A single scimitar would definitely be adequate to cover the cost our coin could not. So I would carry two swords, one scimitar for bartering, and one of Nedic design for self-defense. With barely any breakfast and no tea, I was already on to my first task this demanding morning. The stream of obstacles continued to flow like any other, but at least I should have time to gather my thoughts walking to the hospital. Maybe upon getting back I would be in the mood to finish breakfast. We would see.

_Welcome to your new post._


	33. Dara'iin

"Tojay-Raht:

A Khajiiti form with the height and weight of a typical human, but possessing a feline head, tail, and fur. Its body structure is otherwise completely human. The most popular breed to birth in Cyrodiil and Skyrim.

Tojay:

Identical to the Tojay-Raht, but smaller." -_Basic Guide to Khajiiti forms for Imperial Military Personnel_

Mid Year 12, 4E2

Edge of Cartha Gardens District, Torval

* * *

The massive Khajiit we were riding (for the cost of fifteen coins) waited for the portals to part.

I heavily anticipated how the Ri'Kissa District might look different. Northern Torval was as desolate and decrepit as last time we visited. How would the south look if Do'Dara had really gone rogue? Any different?

When the way was fully unobstructed, I noticed two Confederated soldiers were stationed at the door of Ri'Kissa's Choice. What was that about? Had its owner been smuggling for insurgents? He did not seem the type, unless my prejudice about 'the type' was wrong. Yet usually investigation sites were not guarded externally and would be left to the citywatch.

Our ride started moving. Another Confederate emerged from an alley and looked us us with a tiger-like gaze. I could not help but become self-conscious, even atop this mighty beast. Then we passed him.

The first thing different about this district was that enforcement seemed more abundant. Was that just the power of suggestions, or had something really changed?

It seemed the only sounds in this part of the city were the feet of our Senche-Raht against the dirt and metal boots of soldiers. This area possessed an aura of unsettling sterility. I thought I could even feel a gaze upon my back. Was that soldier still starring at us?

I heard coughing that could have come from the other side of the district. At noon in the Imperial City, it was too noisy to hear someone sneeze twenty paces away.

We were close to the first corner.

I realized I had forgotten S'Nirem was behind me since we entered. Apparently I had been quite distracted.

The Senche-Raht turned it. There was a four way intersection with a large statue of a Khajiiti warrior in its center: the man this place was named after, probably. I was curious as to whom Ri'Kissa was, but something inhibited me from asking the person I was riding, or the one to my aft. There was a sense that even the littlest abrupt movement could make this place fall right on top of us.

A couple with a small child crossed the street. There were also a few more guards patrolling. From the opposite side I saw a soldier with a detained Tojay woman. Again, warriors outnumbered civilians

From our left came a man riding another Senche-Raht, and seemed to be heading to the place we had just left. People still needed to go to the Commerce District, but denizens of Torval kept travel to a minimum these days. Still, maybe the rebels were no longer citizen's _biggest_ fear in this half of the capital.

As the statue obstructed less of our view, I could make out the exit far and straight ahead. That was the Hospital District entrance. Once we arrived there we could get what we needed for Collects-Rocks, then I could start issuing orders so we could start making a _difference_ in Elsweyr.

We passed the flower-surrounded statue.

A mage made his way across the road. He was a Breton. I was not sure how many of the foreign guilds and companies had pulled out yet. No doubt all those which had not were considering it.

"You were in the Mages Guild, right sir?" _Sir._ Even in a casual conversation S'Nirem used that word.

"Yes, I studied in the Arcane University," I said. He did not know how much that effected who I was today.

"That's pretty prestigious, Fidelis. People come from every corner of Tamriel to study there." Especially Summerset Isle, who was the most bitter of all nations towards the Empire.

"I know, I met plenty of foreigners." And found foreigners tended to be deluded and annoying more often than quaint and charming. The ones in the Legion, like S'Nirem, were obviously exceptions: usually I had more admiration for them than the domestics.

"What're all the spells you know, Fidelis? I had a friend who could shoot a fireball from his hand, but I know all that magical stuff can take a mighty long time to learn."

I decided not to use any jargon here. I would keep the proper terms to myself. "I know a frost spell, a light spell, and something to slow a person's heart rate: the Legion taught me that last one. I can also dispel curses...I picked up bits of knowledge on some other stuff too before I left, but nothing that would enable me to cast another spell or make a potion or anything."

"Interesting..." he said, though I doubted he really meant it. Still, one could not build friendships with a conservative approach to conversation, so I continued:

"I wasn't totally sure what I wanted to do with my life until I joined the Legion. I figured I would probably learn a fire spell to compliment my hypothermal one and then get a job at an inn or restaurant or something because you can make decent money speeding up the culinary process." It was almost comical how wrong I had been. Who would have expected my life to be filled with legendary grandiosity, heroism, and darkness? There had always been a whisper in my mind telling me I would live up to greatness, but I figured everyone had that. Then I thought to ask, "What did you do before you joined the military?"

"I taught Cyrodilic to Khajiiti immigrants," he responded. "Before that I was a basket merchant in Riverhold."

Our ride yelled something up to the guard on the wall. We were right in front of the portals. This next district was ours (though he had promised to take us to the hospital itself).

As they parted, I asked, "How'd that go?"

"Not too bad," he stated. "I never got robbed, which is something worth saying when you work in Elsweyr." I chuckled. S'Nirem was a warm man, and someone who had seen more of the world than most. He was good company, even in a place that radiated no spiritual warmth.

The doors halted and the giant beast continued onwards.

I surveyed the Hospital District, seeing if I could pick out our destination from here. In the distance I could see a large, single-floored building with yet another pair of Confederate soldiers standing guard at its door. Was it our target, the hospital? Why would anyone be guarding that?

Maybe it was not.

A thin, raggedy beggar was drinking skooma in an alley. On the other side of the street, a local watched us from his window, though looked away almost immediately.

We passed a watchwoman.

Far in the distance I heard someone screaming bloody murder. No watchmen seemed to respond. They seemed to assume he was _their_ victim. The sooner we left this place, the better.

We were getting close to that heavily guarded building, which was on a corner. An Imperial, black-haired mercenary with an axe stood in front of a second entrance. Was this indeed the hospital? What did all the security mean?

Our Khajiit halted. Apparently it was.

The deep gruff Senche-Raht said, "This is place you want. Remember, you only pay for ride _here_." Now we had this 'guards' mystery to solve, and I worried it meant we could not obtain medicine today.

"Thanks," I said sort of absent mindedly, even though he did not give off much of an air of friendliness. I jumped off and so did S'Nirem. I could ask the soldiers or the mercenary, despite the disconcerting auras both radiated. The soldiers were more likely to know exactly what was going on, so I decided to approach them. I really hoped we had not come all this way for nothing. Would the gods really be so cruel as to throw another complication our way?

Both Confederates, the closer one a Tojay-Raht and further an Ohmes-Raht, eyed us we approached.

When we were close enough to speak, I tried Cyrodilic first.

"Hey, can I enter the hospital?" It felt odd question asking the question, as if I possessed a niave friendliness. But what else should I have said?

The one closer to us spoke with a heavy accent. "Dro'Krisasti Hospital has this morning been nationalized. Our leader, Do'Dara, is in the process of...establishing new management."

Nationalizing? New management? I had never seen anything like this take place in Elsweyr before.

"Nationalized? Did General Do'Dara tell you to do this? Who does this hospital belong to now?" I worried.

"Dara'iin," he replied. That was Do'Dara's name with the Khajiiti suffix for "land" or "kingdom" added to it! Do'Dara had gone so mad as to declare southern Torval its own nation! Elsweyr was falling apart in the most absurd ways! In crisis, the General had merely seen a way to grab power for its own sake, when Torval was on the verge of hell! As a nation lost its blood, it lost its mind.

But dreadful as the prospect, first thing was first: what did this mean for acquiring medicine?

I began, "Well...I want to make a purchase from this place. A friend of mine has a badly infected wound. Would that be possible right now?" I tensed a pinch in anticipation.

"Most likely," the warrior responded. I loosened. "Do'Dara has his healers currently staffing hospital. They will likely know what your friend needs and be able to give it to you. But do not expect it for free."

I did not like the sound of this entirely, having to do business with a usurper, but unless we wanted Collects-Rocks to be limping forever, it seemed our only option.

"Okay," I replied. "Can I go in?"

"You may, but we will have to escort you. Keep your weapons...out of your hands." Not a surprising demand given how dicey Do'Dara's actions were already, but I wondered what I would see in there.

The Khajiit unsheathed his scimitar and looked to his partner. "Zahrasha, quikavar! Asha jorrir ka dorror asha sizza adji ka Cyrodiili!" The other soldier did the same, and then pulled opened the door. We were to enter, they were going to follow behind us. It was time to see what this General's footprint looked like. I walked into the ominous entrance of what was now property of Do'Dara and the terrible lust he represented.

What was revealed was an eight foot tall, muscular, decoratively uniformed Cathay-Raht standing behind a counter, his garb that of a top-ranking Confederate officer: Do'Dara himself, in the flesh, to oversee this operation. With him, given the white robes customarily warn in Elsweyr, was a healer. To the healer's right stood a battle mage, who already primed himself for a destruction spell upon our entrance. Another Khajiit was tied to a chair behind him. I guessed he was one of the previous staff. I wondered why he would see it necessary to take a hospital by force, but I did not feel comfortable asking what kind of depravities this rogue might be up to.

Do'Dara boomed something Ta'agran, just the kind of voice you would expect from a man like him.

The soldier behind S'Nirem replied in Cyrodilic, saying, "These two came to the hospital in search of aid, sir. They would like a potion to cure their friend of an infected wound." Would Do'Dara not make every attempt to bleed us dry in this transaction? Could a man of such power and boldness possibly be expected to show any mercy? Was it even smart to come in here?

"Hmh. We may provide them, but we shall demand coin just as the former proprietors of this hospital have...five-hundred septims to this one's regime in return for the kindness!" A market price, that was somewhat of a relief, even if Do'Dara was an imposing figure. The coins and the sword should cover it. I did feel an inkling of respect towards him for that, 'bad guy' or not.

Speaking clearly, I said, "We only have three-hundred septims on us, but we have a scimitar. Would you accept that as the remainder of the payment?"

"Yes," he replied surprisingly quickly. "My men are always in need of more weapons. Zahrasha, relieve the human of the scimitar and bring it to this one."

I remained still for the process. I felt my weapon slide up my side. His presence was powerful, and part of me felt inclined to hate him for that, but so far he had not broken any rules.

When Zahrasha was finished he came around from behind me with a sword in each hand. He placed mine on the counter. Then he turned and walked to get back to my rear. The General was not a reckless man.

"Come forth now with the coin," commanded the officer. _'Come forth,' _the words of an egotistical fop. I knew he would be my enemy eventually, but for now I was required to play his game.

I began walking, the guard behind me following almost immediately, and reached for my pouch. I was about to trade with the Khajiit who had the gall to betray the Mane himself.

When I got to the counter, I placed the coins down. The General picked them up, testing to see if they plausibly weighed enough to be three-hundred and then felt for the shape of coins.

Do'Dara looked to the healer and said, "Shava-Bas, provide them what they need." I could not deny the rogue, whatever brutishness he might have engaged in, was an honest business man...

I looked towards the Khajiit in white. "Ah, yes, ummm..." he had a much more friendly and brittle demeanor than his boss. "First this one is going to need to ask some questions..." He fidgeted a little with his fingers. This mannerism was familiar to anyone who had spent a lot of time in Elsweyr, but I knew he was not too high for me to trust his judgement at this stage. "How is this infection...ummm...manifesting itself?"

"His scab is discolored, sort of yellow, and it's causing him some pain to walk. He was cut last night, but we didn't really notice that he had an infection until this morning."

The healer rubbed his chin. "Hmmm..." He looked at the ceiling with distant eyes, contemplating the problem and no doubt much more with his buzzing psyche. "Ah, yes!" He briskly crouched down and came back up with a yellow bottle. "If he will injest this the infection should be gone within a few hours!" That was quick. The replacement staff really did know what they were doing, at least.

"Thanks." I responded, though I wondered if he worked for Do'Dara by his own preference. I knew the Khajiit used moon sugar to cope with stress.

I grabbed the bottle. It was over, and we had not been bled dry, though admittedly I was somewhat shaken. Dara'iin would be one more thing to process upon returning, a daedroth in the distance. For now, though, I had medicine to deliver to my comrade.

I turned, facing the Ohmes-Raht briefly before he made his way back behind me. It was time to get out of fanatic's hospital. I began walking for the door.

Our Argonian friend would be cured. The world outside waited for us, but I had gotten a first hand taste of south Torval's renegade. The situation in this half of the city was a mountain on the horizon.

I went out the door with S'Nirem. Back outdoors, the guards closed it behind us, sealing us from that unnerving scene.

This had become way out of hand: something had to be done. We needed to reveal our presence before the madness got any worse. Yes. Elsweyr was being driven to insanity by fear and the opportunists which preyed on it. When I got the sanctuary, I would write a manifesto, copying it many times, and we could sprinkle it all around the city during the night. Rizzani's office had carbon paper to facilitate the process.

I began walking, stewing on all the tasks ahead.

Casting ourselves into the light was more critical than any assault I could send my men on. Without another lending hand, Torval was destroying itself in ridiculous ways. The people of Elsweyr needed to know more than K'Raska's army and the citywatch stood between them and the criminals, otherwise what kind of twisted world would this city become? And when the capital fell, the rest of Elsweyr would soon follow. We had to reveal ourselves before the city contorted itself even further. That was my most important task.


	34. Ink

"The Legions could learn from the unconventional tactics used by the Khajiit in the Five Years War against Valenwood. I was stationed at the Sphinxmoth Legion Fort on the border near Dune and witnessed many of the northern skirmishes firsthand.

The war started with the so-called 'Slaughter of Torval.' The Khajiit claim that the Bosmer invaded the city without provocation and killed over a thousand citizens before being driven off by reinforcements from a nearby jungle tribe. The Bosmer claim that the attack was in retaliation for Khajiti bandits who were attacking wood caravans headed for Valenwood." -Mixed Unit Tacticsin the Five Years War,Volume One

Mid Year 12, 4E2

Rizzani's Former Office, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

_I'll start with a rough draft, or maybe with an outline._ I thought I would never again use those words since I had left the Arcane University, but here I was. Elsweyr needed a good essay: It was what would be absorbed as the essence of who we men were. This was a more important than any schirmish I could fight.

I knew the basics of what to say, that we were here to save the Khajiit from the violent lunatics that threatened to turn their province into gods only know what kind of hell, to secure their neighborhoods so they could walk their streets without fear.

_We come here as your saviors from the madmen you know as the Renrijra Krin, and the many criminals who walk the city with swagger, and all those who would oppose...violently oppose, the Mane K'Raska's benevolent rule. We will shepherd...no, protect Elsweyr as it...so it may enter a new era of progress and forward thinking._

But there was the question of the very man who had inspired me to write this: renegade General Do'Dara. He had hijacked the southern half of the city and seemed to be ruling it with an iron fist. That was bad, but he had an entire regiment at his command, so he was hardly someone I was eager to pit us up against. Should we antagonize _him _too? I wanted to write this manifesto to make Elsweyr feel safer, so no further traitors would prey on the locals' fear, but I did not necessarily want to fight this man, not yet. Even if we could undo him, that would not be an improvement if the good guys could not hold the southern half of the city afterwards: the Renrijra Krin would simply fill the void. So an invasion of southern Torval was a bad idea unless we were prepared for its occupation. General Do'Dara would need to be ignored for now: choosing my battles, it was a strategic concession to protect my righteous agenda.

It would be difficult to dignifiedly specify our tolerance of Dara'iin, though. I would have to find a noble way to word that.

But I would get to that later.

How would I explain what we were biologically?

_We are...perhaps you have heard rumors of...animal-like...chimera...animal-human hybrids who..._I could not think of a good way to articulate what the Hist sap allowed us to do. That was a second challenge. Regardless, there was plenty of time.

There was another query I had mused over on the way back, with no real answers: whether we should reveal Collects-Rocks as part of our unit. The Mane had the ability to pardon criminals, and given his situation he would probably leave Collects-Rocks alone if he knew he was an ally. A pardon would make it easier to get the Argonian around the city, too. However, there was a risk it would delegitimize us. Or the Mane could decide the authorities should still pursue the kid, in which case we might just make the hunt easier; How much did K'Raska know about us already, I wondered? I thought Rizzani said K'Raska knew about this sanctuary...

Still, it seemed unlikely the Mane, knowing the bigger picture, would not pardon Collects-Rocks. It was very hard to believe he would be that stubborn in punishing a single murder while the most sinister tyrants of history banged on his door.

So it sounded like I should proclaim Collects-Rocks' membership.

But that would not be a good way to start. I should begin with a moralistic mission statement.

Was it best to simply start writing? How to begin? I could just tell them we were here to fight guerillas and criminals, but that was too simple.

There was a stack of news articles about Elsweyr on this desk. Maybe some those would give me ideas, albeit no doubt a few would get me hot and bothered: The Fourth Era Pundit provided the item on the top of the stack. But I _had_ found my best inspiration for articulating what I stood for, verbally or physically, when I saw or heard the opposition's inevitably self-defeating arguments. Perhaps getting angry would be good for me here.

I looked down at the title:

**_The Fourth Era Pundit:_**

**Does Cyrodiil Really Want a Stable Elsweyr?**

Yes, this would get me fired up. Those bastards would finally be put to good use! They would imbue me with a clear view what I opposed! It was time to stare this old nemesis in the face! I began reading:

**It is a generally held preconception that Imperial troops are in Elsweyr to curb violence, to stabilize the province, to capture criminals and terrorists and restore order. In reality, the opposite is more likely: The Empire wants conflict in Elsweyr to continue. It wants to occupy the land.**

**"I am not to believe Cyrodiil has suddenly grown a big heart for our people," said Qa'Bhisha, resident of Senchal, "Cyrodiil has never had an interest beyond expansion of its Empire, gathering more land and resources. When the Bosmer invaded Torval and killed over a thousand of our people, the Empire did nothing. This talk of humanitarianism is just hypocritical hogwash." Though many historians dispute such a high figure for the 'Torval Massacre' death toll, the fact of the Empire's negligence remains.**

**Is it indeed wise to presume the Empire will today have good intentions? Many Khajiit believe Imperial troops in their province are creating more conflict than they put to rest. "They give the guerillas an excuse to fight," says one resident of Torval who asked to be unnamed.**

**It seems Cyrodiil's justifications for remaining in Elsweyr are suspicious at best. Should we take Ludovicious Ocato at his word when he says, "the Empire's mission is to uplift and pacify Elsweyr, so it may arise a participant in the Tamrielic community"?**

**-Haldurion**

My insides were starting to bubble at the attacks on my dear Empire, or the beautiful thing we _used_ to be. This was only the second time I had read their words, but they were no less wretched and inflammatory. Why in all of Nirn would we want to have our troops marching around Elsweyr for the sake of it? Just to give The Fourth Era Pundit material for their vitriol? I knew no profanity on Nirn could capture my conviction in the article's absurdity! _These self-deluded fetchers!_

And did Qa'Bhisha not know that nations tended to change their policies once every few centuries? Was the province of...Valenwood hypocritical for allowing the Imga to own land today even though they did not allow it fifty years ago?

This kind of heinous thought had the upper hand in Tamriel, much to my chagrin. So often had anger boiled in my heart because of that.

But with my will and ingenuity and conviction, I would give _ours_ the upper hand on the _battlefield_! Righteous fury flowed through my veins. Good. I knew the manifesto's words would pour out of me easily. But...

More. I could utilize even more energy. The fools at The Fourth Era Pundit would imbue me!

I saw the next item was from the same publication. _Perfect._ The letters almost seemed to burn off of the page. This was the voice of everything that was wrong with the era, everything I would gleefully fight! It dared me to read! I would gladly swallow it! Yes, another! More energy! More purpose! More conviction!

**_The Fourth Era Pundit:_**

**The Real Perpetrators of the Fort Nomore Incident**

**It was late night, the seventh of Sun's Dawn when it happened. An attack on Fort Nomore, a military installation in the trans-Niben, which took the lives of nineteen members of the Imperial Legion. Twelve of them were trained soldiers.**

**Potentate Ocato immediately blamed the attack on the Renrijra Krin, the resistance group the Empire has been fighting in the province of Elsweyr. Suspicion has since arisen about the truth of this claim, and rightfully so. Soldiers stationed at the fort say the attackers were racially diverse, containing a large number non-Khajiit. They also point out that the amount of damage they inflicted with such small numbers demonstrated a professionalism beyond that of any guerilla fighting force.**

**These oddities have been brought to public attention, but not acknowledged by Cyrodiil's current regime. While it is unclear who the real attackers were if not the Renrijra Krin. a new theory has been formulated:**

**Since attack on Fort Nomore is largely credited with shifting Elder Council opinion back in favor of the war, the raid worked in the favor of Ludovicious Ocato's ambitions, as well as the many guild heads who wished to be able to operate their businesses on Khajiiti land. The Fighters Guild, the Guild of Healers, and many others, have all been able to reap massive profits from Imperial protection. Rumors have been circulating that some of the belligerents killed in the attack were "former" members of the Fighters Guild, and had gone missing shortly before the incident. Could the guild have collaborated with imperial officials to protect their mutual agenda? The Fighters Guild, like many other guilds, has certainly profited from the Empire's adventure. An Imperial withdrawal from the province of Elsweyr would mean the organization would have to retreat in kind shortly after. Could war-hungry Cyrodilic officials and the Fighters Guild have collaborated to orchestrate this attack?**

**Captain Danus Farrius, who presided over the installation during the attack, told our interviewer, "The Renrijra Krin does not fight like this. The proficiency these attackers demonstrated trumphs even what I've seen from the Legion." Certainly it does not sound like any ramshackle militia was behind the raid.**

**The arrival time of the belligerent forces during the Fort Nomore attack also to suggest an inside knowledge. Could it be that officials in the Imperial government collaborated with members of the Fighters Guild to carry out the assault?**

**Perhaps such will never be known. But much information is yet to be uncovered on these attacks, and none of what has been unearthed gives indicators towards the culpability of the Renrijra Krin.**

**-Fralav Privo**

Not as incendiary as what I was hoping for, as I did not care who attacked Fort Nomore. That was a mere smidgen compared to what was at stake in this province. It was an absurd theory they proposed, but it had given no additional charge.

I needed some more material exposing the nonsense by which our enemies 'justified' themselves...

I looked over to the next item on the stack. It was from "Past the Borders." They were almost always apolitical. If anything did incite me, it would be minimally so.

Still, more information was better for writing the manifesto, and I knew I could eat through this article quickly with my current vim. I read:

**Past the Borders****: The Enemy Within**

**by Marriette LaRouche**

**It was a normal day for Captain Do'Sira of the Elsweyri Confederate Army, a military force under the command of Elsweyr's Mane. He was to arrest a Torval resident accused of conspiring with rebels. The catch? He the resident was his own underling, an immediate subordinate, Lieutenant Tsvasa Half-Tail.**

**Many members of both the Elsweyri Confederate Military and some citywatch forces (particularly in the capital city of Torval) are known to be sympathizers of the guerillas in the province. A legacy of the previous Mane, K'Dira, the often high ranking sympathizers of the Renrijra Krin's ultra-nationalistic ideology (even if they were prefer it in tamer incarnations) are a major problem in the fight over the province. Questions of Elsweyr's role in Tamriel have been a heavy source of conflict within the country since it gained its independence from the Septim Empire roughly twenty-five years ago.**

**K'Raska had toyed with the idea of purging and rebuilding the Elsweyri Confederate Army, a force formed by his predecessor after the Septimian Rebellion, but ultimately decided such a move would have been too costly and risky in a province as volatile as his.**

**Still, many today believe it was foolish to overlook that option. In the past three months there have been six reports recorded by the Elsweyri soldiers literally stabbed in the back by their fellows. There have been far more reports of officers using their powers to secretly traffic government weapons to guerillas, or giving intelligence to the Renrijra Krin or other, less well-known rebel groups that have sprung up in the post-Oblivion Crisis chaos, such as the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction or Ri'Kissa's Front.**

**Others officers are simply corrupt in the more classical sense, accepting bribes to overlook crimes or confiscating "stolen" property from civilians for their own possession. Such problems, are, however, hardly unique to Elsweyr and considered a secondary concern for the K'Raska regime.**

**A government stretched so thin dealing with crime and insurgency struggles to investigate problems within itself. But with so many high-ranking officers transferring intelligence and weapons to those who would attack their men, could K'Raska's defeat come from the enemy within?**

I had already known plenty about the treacherous officers within Elsweyr's military. We had many obstacles here, but with our determination, we could overcome them all.

None of my previous anger had drained, a good thing, but I was hoping for more of The Fourth Era Pundit, for another reminder of the solidity of my cause.

Checking the next article, I discovered it was indeed authored by them! Yes, they had finally come to challenge me again, and I would eagerly accept! They would fuel me like no food or magic! How they would regret their words if only they could see me now!

**_The Fourth Era Pundit_**

**Voices of the Resistance**

**So often has Tamrielic media portrayed the rebel forces fighting the Imperial Legion in the land of the Khajiit as "the other," the enemy. More and more however, as alternative media grows, we are beginning to see the invalidity of this view.**

**The location and names I cannot disclosed, but I was, in Elsweyr, generously allowed to interview members of a major insurgent army in the area, Jodavhir Vaasizar Elsweyri, or The Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction. A militia formed after the Oblivion Crisis, its birth in Torval has now blossomed into much more robust existence.**

**It was in a small safehouse in the coastal city of Senchal which I conducted this interview. Two young women occupied this dwelling when I attended. Their real names will not be disclosed, I shall refer to them by the features which most stood out to me.**

**Both were polite and treated me as a guest, and they were blunt and forthcoming about everything they fought for.**

**"We fight for Elsweyr's soveriegnty," said the Khajiit I will identify as Necklace, "To show we won't take foreign subjugation lying down."**

**She added, "No one should be called a terrorist simply for not wanting to be assimilated into the Cyrodilic money machine!"**

**The other lady, who I will refer to as Archer, targeted her grievances more towards the Mane. She said, "K'Raska has failed to provide us with even the most basic elements of welfare. Our wells are often in disrepair, caravans are irregular, and there's little security."**

**When I asked about their former jobs, both preferred I not disclose.**

**A male member of their team arrived later. All three demanded I leave their dwelling shortly after, saying they had private plans to discuss. I complied.**

**The Empire has long painted those who it fights as unreasonable savages, with violent impulses rather than sensible causes. We can see this is not the truth.**

**-Erranil**

That was the kind of material I was looking for! I was now quivering from the raw exposure to enemy propaganda! It was the enemy who destroyed the wells and the caravans, those whose side _they_ fought on, not our people! And 'sovereignty?' 'subjugation?' We defended a leader selected by the Khajiiti Lunar pantheon! If that was not the substance of the sovereignty of Elsweyr, what on Mundus was! What could be more legitimately Elsweyri? 'Subjugation!' If coming to a nation with the permission of its god-elected king to fight off those who wanted to impose everything down to literary choice was a form of subjugation, what on all of Nirn was _not_!

And 'Cyrodilic Money Machine?' What the hell did that even mean? Would they rather be embargoed?

They slapped the face of Julianos. We were the forces of logic! They were the forces of delusion!

Our manifesto: in my tumult I had almost forgotten my original purpose for reading the evil words of The Fourth Era Pundit.

I tried to pull my thoughts from the article, even as they tried to go back like a child pulled from a sweets shop. My body was pumping its fluids with a speed and veracity that only bottle of skooma could induce, but it did not give me the desire to write, rather it gave me the desire for yet additional drink! I hated the politics of The Fourth Era Pundit, yet I had a ravenous hunger for more of their words!

But this was a problem, not what I expected. When would that hunger end? Every time I ate, the lust only grew.

I should try to wind down, as difficult as that would be, perhaps read an article that had nothing to do with Elsweyr. The other stack of newsletters contained those. I looked over at them, still shaking from what The Fourth Era Pundit had done to me.

**Past the Borders: ****'The Thalmor' Continue Gaining Influence Over Summerset Politics After Oblivion Crisis Heroism**

That sounded dry and boring, whoever 'The Thalmor' were. I looked under.

**Past the Borders:**** In Tough Times, All of Tamriel Cries for Another Champion**

Yes, _this_ might get me in the writing spirit! It was like the gods had given me a signal! I was the latest champion in the making, the foreigner who would uplift Elsweyr! Tamriel cried for a hero, and here I was, with the boldness to defy my superiors and swim against the currents taking us down to ruin! I had accomplished my mission in Black Marsh, and I would accomplish it here too! I would be the savior of the beastfolk! From both sides of Leyawiin my achievements would be looked upon. I eagerly began reading!

**by Jo'Virr the Red**

**The deities of Tamriel have been receptive to us in the past decade. When troubles arose Morrowind, it is said Daedric Prince Azura sent the Nerevarine, reborn, to save the Dunmer from the Blight and wrath of Dagoth Ur. When the gates of Oblivion opened, the Nine selected Moris Antigonus to confront the evil leader of the Mythic Dawn Cult, Mankar Camoran, rumored son of Camoran Usurper, and recover the Amulet of Kings.**

**In the aftermath of the aforementioned crisis, however, problems still plague Tamriel. War is being fought in two provinces and the coral kingdom of Thras. Lawlessness plagues Skyrim. Kvatch is still in ruins. Pirates are dotting the sea. Banditry inundates the roads of Cyrodiil. In many places, citizens of Tamriel are crying out for another champion.**

**At the chapel of Cheydinhal -**

I could write now! My energy had been redirected to the next step of our mission! I would produce the document which would invoke the image of Tamriel's next deliverer!

I would write a work majestic and inspiring, like our tale would be when it entered the history books! I heartily dipped my quill in ink!


	35. Knights of New Elsweyr

"Our dead are 'Ri'sallidad', which may be interpreted as 'martyrs' in the truest, best sense of that word which is so often misused. We honor their sacrifice and, beneath our smiles, mourn them deeply.

Our bravery most obviously shows in the smile that is the 'Krin' part of our name. This does not mean that we walk about grinning like the idiotic, baboonish Imga of Valenwood. We simply are entertained by adversary. We find an equal, fair fight tiresome in the extreme. We confidently smile because we know our victory in the end is assured. And we know our smiles drive our enemies insane." -Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

Mid Year 12, 4E2

Rizzani's Former Office, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

I had clumsily overlooked that the manifesto was off better written in Ta'agran, but that oversight mattered not because this was simply the final draft from which all else would be copied. I looked back down at the parchment, what would be reproduced many fold:

**People of Elsweyr, perhaps you have heard strange rumors of strange men, half animal, appearing in the night, jumping as high as buildings, or throwing objects as heavy as warhammers. Well, these are not mad men's hallucinations. We are real, and are here to fight off the criminals that terrorize your streets and attack your villages.**

**We are not agents of the Cyrodilic Empire, we operate independently. We will not disclose how we got such great powers, which allow us to transform, but we will no longer hide them, so you know you have a mighty guardian at your disposal.**

**We, like you, love this nation and seek to become its saviors. We fight the guerillas and the thugs to protect the people of Elsweyr. ****We seek not conquest, only to aid the brilliant visionary K'Raska in bringing a new day in Khajiiti province. After the situation becomes with in his capacity to control, we shall leave your land.**

**One of our men has been mistakenly branded a criminal by the city of Torval for killing the owner of Ahdazzka's Defenses. We would like to state emphatically that this man was assassinated after weapons in his shop were found in the hands of insurgents, one of whom killed our previous leader. ****Because we seek to be K'Raska's staunchest and most useful allies, we think it would be very reasonable to drop the charges against the Argonian responsible for this act. It was I, Densius Fidelis, who took this leader's place and now command these men. I am the lone Imperial in this group. Argonians and Khajiit compose the rest of our unit.**

**Shed your fear, citizens of Elsweyr! Though the Imperial Legion has left, you still have some of the most powerful warriors in Tamriel to protect you, who will change what it means to be a soldier and fight the enemy in ways they never imagined!**

**We extend an olive branch to General Do'Dara. We intend no aggression against him, though the Mane may deal with him however he sees fit. All other outlaw groups in Torval and all of Elsweyr, however, are subject to our attacks.**

**Embrace us, and soon you will no longer have to walk your streets in fear, see your children murdered, or watch chaos envelope your neighborhoods.**

There was one thing missing, what to call ourselves? By all other accounts this work was complete, I just needed a name to put as our signature.

My mind went to the titles of other heroic cabals depicted in plays I had seen and books I had read: _The Knights of Old Rock. The Knights of the Curved Sword. Knights._ Should we call ourselves "Knights" of some sort? It seemed a bit cliche and plain, but also dignified. _Knights of Elsweyr?_ That was too generic. Our biology distinguished us. _Knights of the Sap?_ That revealed too much important information. How else to articulate our anatomical capabilities? _Knights of the Biological?_ That was as easy on the ears as an infant being tortured. _Knights of...Knights something. Knights of the...Wing Claw_, a tribute to our most commonly utilized animal parts? But that seemed to bring a bird of prey to mind, imply some hidden meaning that was not there. _Knights of the Mane?_ That implied strict subordination to him, which I did not intend to operate by...

_Knights of New Elsweyr?_ It was less generic than simply "Knights of Elsweyr," and paid homage to our specific cause. Perhaps a tad plain, perhaps not stylish, mysterious, or creative, but that was the best I had yet. And a name should not be so important. It was vanity to dwell on such things, and I would rather not be recorded as vain in the history books, even if I had to be the lackluster name giver.

That's what I would settle on. I dipped the quill in ink to write down the label that would represent us:

**-The Knights of New Elsweyr**

Then I laid the quill to rest. The writing was done. Complete. This is what would be copied. By S'Bassa or S'Nirem? S'Bassa had been the less burdened of our two translators today, so I would have him do the job.

The hardest of this afternoon was over, even though I had a couple of missions to plan and one to participate in. But the manifesto was done. Now just to fetch that Khajiit.

I rose from my chair and began walking to the door. He would use my desk for the copying. He would also be the one to sprinkle the papers around Torval.

I exited the office, spotting Ah-Marz walking through the hall. I intercepted him with my words. "Ah-Marz, have you seen S'Bassa?"

"Yeah, I think he's in the barracks, reading."

"Thanks," I replied, but immediately sort of regretted: what kind of officer thanked his subordinates?

I headed for the dining hall, through which I would enter the barracks.

Opening the door, S'Nirem, Collects-Rocks, and Jilheen were playing dice, gambling with zerr berries. An abundance of free time was a luxury I had likely lost with my assumption of command.

Passing them all, I opened the entrance to the barracks and, indeed, spotted S'Bassa sitting on a bed with a book. He lifted his face from it and looked at me expectantly. I spoke:

"S'Bassa, come to my office. There's a document I wrote which I want you to copy into Ta'agran."

Without a word, he closed the novel, put it down on the mattress, and stood. I turned, knowing he would follow, and started walking. Thirty-six copies I would tell him I wanted, with at least five dropped in every district.


	36. The Renrij Archer

"Thus was the province turned from sixteen states to only two: Pa'alatiin and Ne Quin-al, more commonly known by their Cyrodilic names of Pellitine and Anequina.

The two kingdoms, of course, represented the moons at their extremes, but also radically different interpretarions of Khajiit culture, which they adopted from the tribes each had absorbed. The people of Pellitine considered their neighbors in Anequina to be uncouth barbarians, while the Anequinians looked to the south, and saw only decadence and depravity." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Mid Year 12, 4E1

Tenmar Forest, East of Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

Upside down in the humid jungle air, gripping a branch of one of the many great trees shooting up to the heavens in this area, this would be the last effort of a long day. Collects-Rock's medicine, Dara'iin, and the manifesto had all marked the Sundas. The work would end with a couple of guerilla deaths, and that was not even the high point. Even what I did in Black Marsh seemed hardly a greater effort than being rogue.

The camp was still empty, but the occupants should be back soon. The people of Elsweyr often ate dinner later than Cyrodiils, but we had already adjusted for that fact. Jilheen-Bolineena was hiding in the bushes behind my position. I wanted to try a new method of attack this time: I would fire my magic, then launch myself off this branch as it flew towards a target. That way, once it hit, I could pull their attention in conflicting directions.

I had been hanging for a while, altering between reptilian hands and imga feet occasionally. Dangling upside down by my toes had been a novelty the first time, but now it was simply a chore, some discomfort to endure before a fight. Yet after clearing out this base, I could finally let loose and relax.

Then I could at last see some promising movement ahead. Yes, flickers of orange fur through the ample forest greenery, growing into Khajiiti forms. It looked like we would have a Suthay-Raht archer, a Tojay-Raht with a saber, and another Suthay-Raht, vested and muscular, with a longer saber and a backpack. My muscles condensed as I watched the prey.

They believed they were finally going to rest and enjoy themselves after a long search. The truth was far from that.

The greatest feature of the Hist Sap was that it allowed us to operate with such verticle flexibility; the canopies of trees had been the doom of many guerrillas by now.

Ours were getting close to the benches, about to take their seats. The archer looked like he would have his back to me. They were just three generic Renrij, but about to see the wildest sights of their lives.

They all sat down around the fire pit and the bowman, whose posterior faced me, dropped his weapon; an archer, a ranged attacker would be a good first target. My reserves of magicka would be sufficient for another attack when I landed too, so the longsword wielder would be a good recipient for my second hypothermal projection.

They were slouched forwards and conversing, getting some rest before they would begin their meal, but this was no evening for relaxation. Time to break up the party. I thought about the upcoming role of every part of my body: my brain which would process the spell, my hand which would propell it, my legs which would launch me from the branch, and the wings that would guide me down.

Ready, I began arranging the magical currents, a proceedure I had honed for years. This spell would inflict grim injuries upon evil men. Casting, I lifted my hand and sent the freezing energy shooting out of my hand.

As projectile and I parted, I swung myself to an appropriate angle with all my mite and pushed myself from the branch.

A large burst of physical power expended, I was airborne and gliding down, wind batting my face, the Ta'agran chatter continued. The projectile had not been noticed yet. There was an ironic laughter from the gathering.

Then came a scream and cacophony as they tried to make sense of their situation. Soon they would see me, as I was about half way to the forest floor, yet I would be but another diversion, from the ogre-armed claymore weilder!

I reangled for the landing, the yelling continuing. I was coming to close to the sticks and soil.

Into the ground my claws and knees buried themselves!

I pushed myself erect, and turned to face the enemy, unsheathing my saber.

The two swordsmen were charging, wasting no time trying to comprehend my bizzarre anatomy. I did not like taking two at once, and knew I had enough charge for another projection. I aimed at the one with the bigger weapon, and stuck my arm proudly out for a casting. Forth from me came another frigid comet. The Suthay-Raht realized the new threat and dived leftward.

The guerilla seemed to hit the ground unharmed but his partner got within range and I got in my defensive stance. We stared, two ready bodies, one Khajiit, one hodge-podge; two tiger eyed warriors from different nations, waiting for the other to make the first move. But if his friend was getting up, the first move should be mine.

Yet a cry from behind him made the guerrilla turn, and I could make out my Argonian comrade skewing the archer before I took the opportunity, the Tojay's bare back presented to me, and stabbed_ my_ opponent through. He yelped and dropped his weapon at the sight of the redenned sword emmerging from his front, and I withdrew the blade, its mission accomplished, deftly moving it and myself out of the way of his falling body.

Two dead in as many seconds. The last Khajiit had gotten his footing, but was looking frantically between dual threats. I did not know if he planned on fighting, but the unfortunate sod would need to die even if he were to surrender.

Then a blurr was whirling towards him. Jilheen had thrown his claymore. This time, it did not look like the rebel would get out of the way.

Indeed, in a fuzzy but rather disturbing display, it seemed to have cleaved the man in two before both parts of him fell to the ground. The Hist sap opened the door to some gruesome things, but the battle was over.

The three had been dealt with by Cyrodiil's - no, The Knights of New Elsweyr's - pair of freaks.

I let my muscles relax. I looked at the Nibenean. "Nice throw."

"Hell yeah! Fetcher probably didn't know what hit him!"

Out of battlemode, it was time to search, not just for documents but also see what we could bring back to trade for coin or use ourselves.

First was the corpse lying at my feet, eternally staring at the evening sky. On his side was a canteen, and his now crimson-stained shirt had a breast pocket. I knelt down and felt it, and it seemed to contain a compass, but that would be of little value. There was the pouch on his hip. I opened that up, and found a folded map. Our primary objective, good...Though it would not have the area they covered today marked. It would have been smart to hold off the attack until after they had inked it in. This set us one day behind on finding the artifacts. Maybe that was a manifestation of my neophytity.

To make sure he had no pockets aft I flipped the cadeavar over. None.

I left the guerrilla dirt-faced, disrespectful as that might be, and turned to the saber he had dropped. He would not be needing it any more. I put _mine_ back in my sheath, then picked his weapon up with my left hand and transfered it to my right. It was a rewarding feel, picking up something worth substantial gold from an enemy.

Then I turned back to my comrade. He was busy fastening the sheath and sword of his kill around his hip. Finally he bent down to get his claymore again and looked back up at me.

"Jilheen," I said. "You get the archer's gear, I'm going to go search the tent."

I began walking and so did he. Post-battle searching had become somewhat of a routine.

Unlike many of the city operations in Dune, no one would know what we did here, not for days at least. But to the south, Torval was boiling. A rogue General ruled half the city. Gangsters were walking the streets with swagger. Children were getting hung. Maybe these artifacts would turn the tables...or at least make a dent in the enemy.

The benches that were previously occupied were now in view. Even militant fanatics sat down together for dinner. I wondered what a conversation between Renrij would sound like.

A brilliantly colored butterfly fluttered in front of me, complementing the orange of the sunset. The things which happened in Pellitine were ugly, but it had a vibrant and beautiful wilderness, even if so very untamed in ambience.

I could see Jilheen-Bolineena kneeling down at the archer's body. Their tent was not far either. It would be unlikely to see a stash of documents as big as the one we had come across under Captain Rizzani's command, but still, they probably possessed something more than the map to help them recognize M'Dazzir's hide out.

I went through the flaps into the darkened interior. There were three bedrolls, and to my right a simple table. On it was a single piece of paper with Ta'agran handwriting. I grabbed it. Other than that there was little more: a quill, ink, a lamp, and a simple bowl of fruit.

Was that the entirty of the tent's contents? I looked around. The corners were empty. Nothing more to retrieve. Yes, that was everything, it was time to meet Jilheen-Bolineena again and head out.

I exited back into the twilight. Jilheen-Bolineena was waiting, bow in hand, arrows on his back. Our inventories were full, and we were ready to return even if our finds were simply adequate. I wondered if Ah-Marz and Reesaka had uncovered something more substantial.

"Alright, we're done. Let's head back to base," I said. He gave me a husky nod and turned in the direction of home. The hardships of the day were over, I was finally to do things I could actually enjoy: To dine, to have a beer (or two), to converse with my brothers in arms, and to go to bed. It had been a long day. A _very_ long day.

Yet then I noticed something odd about the arrows on Jilheen's back. They were E_lven_.

That was the second set of Elven arms I had seen in a span of forty-eight hours, the first being the claymores which had killed our Captain. I felt something unsettle in the pit of my stomach; A simple coincidence, or a sign that Addazzka had _not_ been the insurgent supplier, but rather some elf who I did not even know existed? My world darkened and spirit humbled at the prospect I had ordered the killing of an innocent man.

Did Jilheen realize this disturbing sign? Did he even care?

I did not know. Infact, I did not want to know. For now, I would keep the disquieting thoughts, the thoughts of Adazzka's innocence, to myself. Hopefully, my first action towards the people of Elsweyr, my first order as 'Captain,' had not been murder.


	37. Alfiq, Manes, and Dagis

"Tamriel's two moons are inextricably linked to the society of the _khajiit_, who worship their different phases, and the combination of the phases, as if they were gods." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Mid Year 13, 4E2

Mess Hall, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

It had been a long time since we had had a proper meal, but renouncing our secrecy meant being able to buy from the Commerce District. This was a very welcome indulgence, perhaps the first relief I had felt since going rogue. Jungle fruits and the meat of boars had grown tiresome. Tonight, I welcomed cheese, potatoes, and chicken back into my diet. We had also picked a up a fresh supply of beer. Giving up our secret was liberating.

The day had consisted of little else for me but planning and putting into play what was decided on yesterday. Collects-Rocks and Reesaka had returned from their search for M'Dazzir's hideout with nothing, but being this was only the first day treading the untread land that was expected. Tomorrow we were going to assault the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction training facility, when instruction was most likely in session.

I had kept the thoughts on the disturbing possibility of Adazzka's innocence to myself...and mostly out of the forefront of my mind.

"Any of you ever had to put down one of those _house-cat_ Khajiit. Alfiq, I think they're called?" asked Jilheen gruffly. Killing people was not my first choice for a dinner conversation, even as it was a routine part of life here.

"Yeah," Ah-Marz replied. "One of them tried to jump on my face during that assignment Rizzani gave Sala-Keesh, Reesaka, and I near the naval depot." Killing and talk of our dead leader, even worse, was starting to sully this good meal.

"Heh, I always feel bad having to strike down those fetchers," Jilheen-Bolineena mused. "It feels like offing someone's pet." Charming way to look at a human life, I was really eager to steer conversation away from this.

I said, "I think I once saw an Alfiq in the Imperial City, he was carrying a coin sack in his mouth." I could very much understand why they would be unpopular to birth in foreign countries.

The Nibenean Argonian laughed. "I wonder how often they get mistaken for animals." At least he was acknowledging the locals were not animals. That was good.

"Yeah, must be a weird life. In Cyrodiil _and_ here." There had always been a lot about Khajiit and how breeds affected them which I wanted to know but had been afraid to ask...especially questions of a sexual nature. Even the brotherhood I felt with S'Nirem and S'Bassa had not yet passed that threshold.

I saw Jilheen cut into his chicken again and I looked back down at my plate to do the same.

"We had to kill a Cathay-Raht at the encampment Reesaka and I assaulted today," Ah-Marz said. "Those are nasty guys. They've got the reach of a Daedroth."

Being in Elsweyr during the Oblivion Crisis, my unit had had to fight a Daedroth, and that was probably a slight inaccuracy. I swallowed and responded, " Do'Dara's is one of them. They're intimidating."

"At least they're easy to spot," Jilheen retorted. "Those Dagis and Alfiqs'll hide damn near anywhere." This was the sort of conversation you could not have with any other kind of group.

I cut another piece of meat off and put the juicy morsel in my mouth.

As I chewed, there was silence.

"I heard the King of Torval is a Pahmar," Ah-Marz remarked. "They're like...just talking tigers."

"At least they can talk," Jilheen replied. "The Alfiq can't, right?"

"Right."

Then some foreign sound came...from the entrance door.

A voice? That was eerie in these circumstances. Our thoughts were redirected completely from the silly conversation, causing adrenaline to seep into my flesh and dark wonder into my mind. It continued, sounding like muffled shouting. Clearly it was trying to get our attention.

"I can't be the only one who heard that," Ah-Marz said.

"You weren't." I replied, and being so on alert my own vocalization sounded like breaking glass. But the mysterious voice was not trying to be subtle, and that meant he was friendly, right? Or were there others in the vault, hoping we would open the entrance for them so they could invade our home and put an end to the Knights of New Elsweyr?

Whatever was in the ruin, it was my duty to take initiative. I pushed myself up and stood. Being the leader, I said, "Let's get armed, then we can see who it is."

Despite some fear, I began crisply walking out of the dining hall in the direction of the armory. My mind still buzzed around the ominous mystery. Had we been followed by a Renrij, the fault of Collects-Rocks and Reesaka? Had they been the carriers of our doom? Who else could be calling at our door? The Empire coming back for their fat sacks of state secrets?

I burst through the armory door and grabbed a scimitar, then, concealing any trepidation on my face, turned back to look into the wide, curious eyes of my soldiers lined up in a crude single-file, Ah-Marz to be the next to arm himself. I passed them, turned the corner and went to the door which hid the monster secret. Who was behind it. How many?

I took defensive position. The voice started again and my hair stood on end. It was muffled and fuzzy, straining to be heard through the stone. It seemed to belong to a Khajiit.

Ah-Marz took position next to me. He had the saber I had retrieved yesterday. Then came Jilheen. Our forces were building, but how many enemies hid on the other side?

Collects-Rocks came next, and Reesaka took position well in the back with his ready bow.

The lever was next to me.

This could be the doom of our operation...but they were bound to find the secret brick eventually if we did nothing. It was best we not let them _sneak_ in.

It seemed only my will stood in the way. There was no reason not to pull it right now.

With a lurch of the soul, I pulled the lever. My insides went numb as the stone wall began descending loudly. But we stood with sharp swords and muscles taught, ready to do what soldiers did best.

At a quarter of its way down it revealed nothing, just the dark, dank ruins. But that was not surprising this early. My eyes remained glued. The entrance was foremost on my consciousness, and my scimitar second; I was thinking about all the flesh it might have to cut.

Three tenths down, it still revealed nothing. That seemed a tell-tale sign this was an ambush, that they had ditched our immediate line of sight and must have been flanking the entrance. Adrenaline shot into my muscles and an oily feeling was left on my skin. They must have been waiting to roll in when the door hit its bottom, or expecting us to come out to investigate.

But then, six tenths down, I saw the top of a furry little head. My spirits sank in relief. My muscles loosened and sword descended. This mystery had become one I was eager to solve.

At scarcely a foot remaining before the door hit the bottom, it was clear our visitor was a harmless looking Dagi, well groomed with shining fur and a buttoned, red vest. Further revealed was a paper he was carrying in his left hand.

I felt like laughing, it seemed humorous I had gotten so worked up. I grinned, relieved, anxiety emptying out into the infinity above.

"Hello good sirs!" the Khajiit said in excellent and jolly Cyrodilic amid the unassuming ruin and pacifying circumstances. "I am courier for my honored master K'Raska, the Mane."

For a second I was confused at how the Mane could know our location. But then I remembered our departed Captain had said K'Raska knew about this sanctuary. How glad I was to see it was one of his agents before me!

"Right," I amended kind of sheepishly, considering our threatening demeanor. I lowered the weapon all the way, and could see my book smart comrade do the same. "Sorry for the sour welcome." I had deflated immensely, a euphoric gratitude for peace taking the place of fear.

He adjusted his vest and replied good naturedly, "It's no trouble, completely understandable given your circumstances."

"Would you like to come in?" I said sort of clumsily.

"No, no thank you. I am merely here to deliver a message for my good master K'Raska." He extended his hand with the letter, written in elegant script and baring distinctive insignia (a giant faceless mane) at its top left corner.

I grabbed the parchment.

"Thanks." Though it felt a bit silly to say. I was still a bit disoriented from the dual surprises of the last couple minutes. However, in a state of such joyous easement I did not worry much about ego.

"It is merely duty," he responded musically. "But now my business here is done. Good day, sirs of Cyrodiil." And, after all that arousal, he simply turned to walk off. It felt great to know we had been in no danger, but what was handed to me was also important. I stared down at the paper. Might this have something to do with Collects-Rocks pardon (hopefully the positivity of the letter would match that of its deliverer).

**Honored "Elsweyra Ja Sabiruhto",**

**The papers you have been dropping about my city have caught the attention of the local soldiers and been brought to mine. **

**Though I do not know your names, I am well aware of your origins and identity. I was told of the Empire's use of its experimental super-warrior program, your capabilities, and your place of residence. While I will not condone (or disavow) your decision to commit desertion from the Cyrodilic Imperial military, cooperation and a solid understanding of the roles of our two parties would be appropriate going forward.**

**I have, as per request, pardoned your Argonian compatriot, though do not necessarily approve of your choice to take the life of J'Atej (the propreiter of Adazzka's Defenses, as you may be unaware, who inherited the shop from his father, Adazzka). Regardless, we believe whether you acted on appropriate evidence is a moot point now.**

**To discuss all else, I invite you to my palace for a seven o'clock meeting in the negotiation chambers tomorrow. You will be escorted in by the guards at the gate, though be prepared to identify yourselves to them first.**

**Your cooperation is both mandatory and appreciated.**

**K'Raska, Mane of Elsweyr**

What a powerful signature to read! To think of the people I had gotten the attention of in my life! Ludovicius Ocato, Commander Civello, and now ambitious Elsweyri Mane, K'Raska! What an honor it would be to meet him! With opportunistic joy compounding relief, I felt light and fluttery, something I had not in far too long.

"Looks like you're off the hook, Rocks!" I said cheerfully (maybe a bit too cheerfully given it was murder he was pardoned for).

"What else does it say?"

"The Mane wants to meet with us personal and discuss...you know, our terms...as his allies here in Elsweyr!" I would have a face to face talk with the Mane!

"We gotta get dressed up?" Jilheen-Bolineena asked with a facetious huff.

"I don't know," I said, amused but honest.

I turned back to the others with a bright demeanor, almost forgetting we had all been armed. "I think we should cancel any further missions until after our meeting with K'Raska, just to make sure we don't step on his toes, so you all have tomorrow off." It felt like Fridas at the Arcane University! Better, knowing who we were guests of! No operations tomorrow! All I had to do was relax and keep my mind fresh for gallant discussions with a most honorable host!

"Great." Jilheen said solidly. He almost immediately began to walk back to the armory, the others quickly following suit, perhaps not as excited as I.

I however, felt too enthralled by the letter I was holding, lost in a silent, vague thoughts, staring at the exquisite script. If we could win, if we could secure Torval and by extension Elsweyr, I would treasure this letter for the rest of my life. It was our mark of recognition from the most important power in this nation, and a symbol of our truest friend, _our_ hero in a way, in this fearsome and dangerous province.

Looking back up, the hall was empty. It was time to mimic my comrades and put this weapon back. Swords were not what tomorrow would be about, either. For once here in Elsweyr, my mind, my personality, and words, not my killing hand, would be my greatest tools, a refreshing reintroduction of an old existence. Or, on second thought, that was an apt description of the job of writing the manifesto, but this time it would be a much more grandiose, dignifying, and enjoyable task. K'Raska, king of the land for which I today fought, wanted to see us!


	38. The Center of Torval

"Torval is the city-state of Elsweyr's spiritual and temporal ruler, the Mane. He and his tribe live here in stately and exotic palaces built from massive timbers of Valenwood oak." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Mid Year 14, 4E2

Commerce District, Near the Royal Courtyard

* * *

Down a street tinted in the yellow glow of a setting sun, we seemed to be well past any shops. There were few civilians on the sidewalks in this stretch, just soldiers. But the homes looked fittingly intact and streets fittingly clean this close to the palace.

Ah-Marz had told me the King of Torval had residence next to the Mane. In fact, the center of the city was sort of a resort for the King of Torval, the Mane, and his tribe. It was a mini-district. That seemed odd, even a little jarring, but only because of arbitrary Cyrodilic cultural standards. It was unclear to me who claimed ownership to the tower that was visible from outside the city, however.

We had not dressed up, my reasoning being that an honest look, representing how we clothed ourselves in day to day operations, would be more noble than expensive adornments that glorified unnecessary expenditures in a time of war.

Turning another corner, there was a scruffy Khajiit on the ground, having been tackled by two watchmen. He was looking at us with bulging eyes. Even this close to the Mane, there were still ruffians lose.

"You!" the unkept man shouted. As best I could guess he was looking at Collects-Rocks. "You done more wrong than me! _You_ should be in prison!" Even here, so close to our mascot, we were not quite safe from local scorn.

"He's done more of _everything_ than you." I retorted. We kept walking.

As we passed the rogue old man, it was only a matter of time and corners until we were to reach the entrance gate, seven free agents out in the daylight, heading to meet with a king.

Ah-Marz had informed me the Mane was actually slightly younger than me, and that _would_ make this meeting slightly uncomfortable; It rubbed me the wrong way to see someone under my age operating with much more majesty...None the less, jealousy obviously was not going to be a high order factor in this equation. We had some of the most important topics of the new Era to discuss and I would be honored to meet with a stalwart friend of Western ideals.

A piece of litter blew around the next turn, which we were quite near.

Upon navigating it, what was presented was the objective of our journey: The gates! They were plane and wooden, but behind them the most important decisions in Elsweyr were made, many of which would soon be about me!

There were many guards stationed ahead, in a uniform entirely distinct from that of the Confederates and citywatch. They were dark orange, with helmets that only sparsely covered the head, and atop which were backwards curving spikes. The joints in the armor were unprotected too, and something told me the design went back millenia.

There were two directly in front of the portals, a Senche with a spear and a Suthay with a scimitar. Flanking the gates were a couple more, and yet another pair were above them. All their eyes were upon this distinctive crowd. No doubt they had been thinking about this group's arrival for quite some time, just as _we_ had been thinking about meeting the Mane. The Knights of Elsweyr, the mysterious new foreigners in Elsweyr, a god send the locals did not quite know what to make of, were presenting themselves to the palace's royal guard for the first time.

The faces of the warriors did not quite bid welcome, but surely they knew who we were.

In a distant part of the city, some shouting could be heard, aggressive in tone, probably a watchman commanding a halt. The Mane and King of Torval were blessed to be so isolated from the city they ruled, though hopefully only in body and not in mind.

K'Raska had written we would need to identify ourselves. I inferred the Senche and Suthay, who seemed to be stationed in irregular places, would be the ones to escort us in.

It was time to get their attention.

Still walking, I began to speak: "Hey," That did not seem entirely appropriate for addressing a regal guard force but..."We're the one your leader...the Mane...wanted to meet with. The 'Knights of New Elsweyr.'" I stopped. "He told you about us, right?"

The girthy Senche looked at us with hard eyes and a weighty face. Then he opened his mouth to speak with a gravely tone. "Yes, you are the ones K'Raska wishes to see." Good, all as planned.

He looked up and yelled, "Kad Cyrodilizad dobba! Jorrir ka quinak!"

And with that the timber structures began moving. The two guards parted too, clearing my field of view for a sight few were privileged to see.

What was being revealed was a beautiful, vibrant garden of tropical flowers and trimmed hedges, navigated with complex cobble-stone paths (which formed a tee shortly after entry). A gazebo was ahead too, as were many cosy looking wooden villas, though I could not see either palace yet.

I began walking, my men in tow. Ever since being picked for that assignment in Black Marsh, I had been blessed to see many grandest places in Tamriel.

There were evidently many more guards inside. Sugar groves were becoming visible, and soon so were the two palaces. Both dwellings were made of dark timbers, elaborately carved with many curves, some of the wood shooting past corners like horns. Both were also plated with stone on their bottoms.

The Senche said from behind us. "Mane's palace is one on your left."

Making it under the arch, we now had a full view of the beautiful district. Wells, sugar stalks, flowers; this was where the laws of Elsweyr were made, where the most targetted and gallant man of the province sat, and where most souls only were able to read about. It was monumental! Though guarded by an intimidating class of warriors, this was a place of unparelleled allure in a scourged province.

The path to K'Raska's palace seemed fairly obvious. Left, then right, then straight. I began walking in the appropriate direction.

This oasis of unhindered positive energy celebrated the tropical vibrancy so many rich men traveled across Tamriel to indulge in, and it was even more enchanting under the twilight sun. The paths were flanked with well cut shrubbery and diverse flowers. I saw a tiny bird with wings flapping at unreal, insectiod speeds flying about the well kept garden. Other avians were gathered in a bird bath nearby. It was a haven of utter comfort to compensate all the tough decisions required by a Mane and a King. It struck me that it was a far more pleasant dwelling than the Imperial palace. Elsweyr had us beat in one area.

Turning the corner, this unit now had a straight path to the Khajiit's palace, door staring us in the face, the cobbled walkway pointing us in the direction of our royal calling. Two soldiers were on either side of entrance, a Tojay and Tojay-Raht, both with scimitars glowing in the setting sun. Since we were seven strangers, five armed, I gathered they would enter with us as well.

Earlier Ah-Marz had informed me that, traditionally, the Mane gathered strands of hair from the faces of everyone in his tribe and Warrior Guard, to a point where it had devastating effect on mobility. This tradition had been abandoned (ironically by K'Dira, who was, for the most part, quite a traditionalist). I had never seen a picture of a hairless Mane, but I was soon to learn what one looked like, which would be quite a mark in my life considering the mythology behind this sub-species.

A butterfly fluttered past me.

I was near the steps and then my feet touched the regal stairs. The sentries put their hands to their hilts, but also made way. I was the one who was to open the doors it seemed. And after ascending the final step, I did.

Greeting us was a grandiose hall, ceiling high. There was a gracious red carpet through the center, and the walls were painted with elaborate murals. On my left were depictions of the jungle and Pellitinian civilization, cities of wood and toiling sugar farmers and giant mansions. On the the right were depictions of the sweeping, rippled desert dunes, the sun-baked clay towns, and the bundled nomadic tribes of the north.

There were stairs at about half way to the currently empty throne, which the rug forked around. And I noticed a Suthay guard at the bottom of them was fast approaching us.

Hand near his weapon (I got the feeling the soldiers were reticent to trust), he stopped perhaps six feet infront of me and said, "I will lead to negotiation chambers. Mane K'Raska is waiting." And turned and began swiftly walking.

This palace was sparsely lit. There were rays of amber sunset coming through some high windows, but other than that only two lights flanked the carpet, lights much like those at the Arcane University, giant cisterns of magical, purple fires. This was because Elsweyr was made for the eyes of Khajiit, who found little offense in the dark.

I was gifted to see this building as a native of Cyrodiil, what a tale my life had become! Densius Fidelis, opener of Black Marsh, Renegade of Elsweyr, friend of the bravest Mane!

I began ascending the steps the Suthay had. It seemed the throne room branched in three direction. The room behind the royal seat appeared our target. From this angle I could not see much of the chamber, other than a bit of a table, the ridges of the wall, and three of the cushioned chairs. But somewhere in that room was the Mane himself, the god-born breed according to Elsweyri belief.

I could guess K'Raska was sitting at the rear and center seat since we could not yet see him. But I was beginning to make out yet another guard most likely flanking his right, a female "furry elf," an Ohmes-Raht. To her back, and presumably the Mane's, was another mural, this one of the night sky.

And then the fateful feline started becoming visible. Dressed in what appeared to be a buttoned, red, silk garment with golden embroidery around the neck, he was perhaps six and a half feet tall; but unlike a Cathay he was lanky. His face was rather flat, and perhaps he had a less intimidating, cattier look, rather than the heartier, jaguarian of many Khajiit. His eyes were like that of a human, green, infact. There was certainly nothing immediately striking as divine about such an appearance, but I had finally absorbed the desired knowledge. This was the breed which could get the entire province bow to him on sight. Most Imperials never got to see one.

Then I crossed through the doorway and I was in the same room as the illustrious K'Raska. This moment would be exhalted in my memory until I was old and weak, and it was being recorded _right now_.

There were about twelve chairs at this table. I panicked a bit since I did not know the seating arrangement, but assumed to take a seat directly across from the mighty royalty. As I did, Ah-Marz took the seat just to my left, Jilheen to my right. Reesaka and Collects-Rocks sat South of Ah-Marz, and across from them S'Nirem and S'Bassa planted themselves.

Our gracious host had provided us with a plate of small horsdeoveres, what appeared to be...seasoned shrimp. A courteous sign. (Jilheen sampled one immedaitely.) The ambitious ruler himself had a golden goblet, head between two painted moons.

The soldiers who had been behind us took positions at the back half of the room. One would certainly have to make his way through a lot of steel and flesh to get at the exhalted Khajiit now. Unlike his soldiers, however, K'Raska wore a pleasant smile and a warm gaze. My envy of the younger man had disappeared, I realized, as I got the warm feeling Elsweyr was in good hands.

The tall leader spoke up, voice rich and stately, but not at all imposing, "Honored guests, I am sure you know me as K'Raska, Mane of Elsweyr. I, however, know not your names." His accent was moderate, though his speech was fluent. Seeing as he probably had no native practice, that was commendable.

I spoke. "My name is Densius Fidelis. To my left are Ah-Marz, Reesaka, and Collects-Rocks." I gestured to each. "To my right are Jilheen-Bolineena, S'Nirem, and S'Bassa." All of us were graced one by one his royal gaze. Densius Fidelis, once a no-name footsoldier, was now beholden by world leaders.

"Excellent. Let's get down to our important business," he said, clawed fingers interlocked on the table and green eyes gleaming. Corporal Fidelis had terms to discuss with the leader of the Khajiiti realm.


	39. The Trainer

"Elsweyr's overall territory, however, has not increased, due to a border arrangement which was not it that nation's favor. In the east, the long disputed border with the Cyrodilic County Leyawiin was recently resolved in Cyrodiil's favor, after an agreement between the current Mane and the Count of Leyawiin. But a group of Khajiit bandits known as the Renrijra Krin has taken up the cause of returning the land to Elsweyr, and the West Niben remains a trouble spot." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Mid Year 15, 4E2

Back Alleys, Sugar Groves District

* * *

We still stuck to the back streets in our freakish forms, but this time we worried not at all about whether passerbys would see us. That felt alien, but having distributed the pamphlets, such behavior was now warranted. We wanted to have the element of surprise once we arrived at the facility, but it did not matter if random civilians saw us along the way. We gladly let the tropical sun shine down anomalous forms.

Reesaka and I were unaugmented, but Ah-Marz had an ogre arm, Collects-Rocks and Jilheen had keenen legs.

The Mane and I had concurred our two parties should operate independently for greater efficency, so things would go on as usual, though now we had his blessing: I had been approved by the most powerful and one of the most illustrious in Tamriel!

Turning the corner, I saw one of his Confederate soldiers. He looked directly at us and gave a thumbs up. _Renegade Densius Fidelis, K'Raska Approved._ I returned it.

We went around him, and now we were close to our destination. S'Nirem had given me a good idea of the structure of the building, but we did not know what the positions the occupants would be in, so I would drink the 'Detect Life' potion in my hand. It was the only one in stock at the shop, three-hundred septims. I had never drunk one before, and my curiousity was rather aroused.

I knew the next long, irregularly shaped building we saw was our target. S'Nirem was not sure what the site's original purpose was, but from what I had been told it was shaped a bit like a chapel: a massive rectangular main chamber, with a couple of auxillary rooms opposite the road and in the aft, and a cellar.

Now I thought could see the objective ahead, its two shuttered windows (locked from the inside according to our immigrant interpreter) visible.

I picked up the pace excitedly. We were pitting ourselves against larger numbers this time, or at least most likely, but we had the entire squad. Inside that building were many unsuspecting Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction guerillas, training to become warriors they never would. Who might be instructing them, I mused? Probably a defector from within the citywatch or Confederate military. That traitor's life would end today.

We were past all the adjacent huts and behind the target. I walked roughly to the center of the northward stretching construction and then turned, staring at its plain back wall.

I uncorked the bottle.

Here came my first taste of 'Detect Life' potion. Arcenno back in the Arcane University had described the effect, the little purple clouds it produced in one's vision, but never the taste.

With a bit of courage and sense of humor I brought the bottle to my lips and tilted it back, bracing.

What met my taste-buds was a tangy flavor. Not delicious by any means, but not unpleasant like so many other brews, so I continued imbibing with a small sense of gratitude.

I finished. Now just to wait for the effects to start, which should not take long. Time to see what this sixth sense looked like!

Chainmail jingled somewhere out of view.

I felt some pain in my sinuses. It was subtle. Then it grew until it was rather admirably making its presence known. This had to be from the potion. _Uh-oh. _Was this a defective brew? Such rarely resulted in mortal harm, but it had usavory monetary and tactical implications.

Then came a sound in my head like a stuttering cymbal clash. I cursed my payment and wondered where the mission would go from here.

I was starting to feel dizzy. I put my forehead on the wedge between my index finger and thumb, hoping this would end soon. I closed my eyes for as much peace as possible as my brain took its punishment.

That sound came again.

"You okay, sir?" Collects-Rocks asked in the darkness.

"Yeah, just a bad batch." I remembered witnessing Sulinus throw up after putting too much dreugh wax in a bottle of agility potion. He claimed he could hear his eyeballs move inside his head until it was out of his system.

I remained in the darkness, though the ground beneath still seemed to tip and tilt. A bird sang indifferently in the background.

Then I started to feel the world stabilize again. I opened my eyes back to the dirt floor of the alley. The pain was no more. _Is it over? _My mind felt more condensed. The older world had reclaimed its place.

Still, damn it! That was three-hundred septims, and a key part of our preparation for charging into a guerilla nest! Was their some chicanery behind this? The Khajiit were infamous for dishonesty. Was their more truth to the stereotype than I had once naively thought? But a shop owner had a reputation to maintain; There was no reason to suspect foul play when this man had a permanent store in the Commerce District. It was just some bad luck on my part. Still, damn it!

I lifted my head and looked back at the plain, uninforming wall. That potion had provided me nothing.

We were going in blind...or would we go in today at all? We had lost a serious advantage, but I would hate to delay, leave the enemy free to kill another day.

Maybe I could find another way to scout. There was a basement, which should not be occupied at this hour. Perhaps I could peak into the main room from there. Even if it was not a great, or even good, reconaissance, it was something, and from there I could decide whether to finish the operation this afternoon.

Yes, the entrance was around the corner and I would have Collects-Rocks pick it opened.

I turned to the young Argonian. "Rocks, I'm going to use the cellar door, see what I can scout from the basement." I turned and walked stalwartly ahead.

Reesaka coughed behind me.

Winding the corner, I intended to walk past the door a little ways to slightly obscure the sight of the soldier picking. Not that we had to worry about getting arrested for it, but just incase someone in sympathy of the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction might see us. Of course, it would not reduce suspicion much, but...

I was already past it. I stopped. Looking into the sun-soaked streets, there was no one else visible. I heard the Argonian remove his lockpick and get to work.

Sweat rolled idly down my forehead. Summer in Elsweyr certainly was hot, though at least eight-hour patrols were a thing of the past.

Far off came the sound of breaking glass and a woman's shouting. Torval was Torval.

Then finally came that metallic click. I turned as the Colovian disengaged.

"Return to the others." I commanded, an oddly stiff sounding edict. "I'll report back if and when I get some useful information." Or if and when I discovered I could not, but that did not seem necessary to specify.

Collects-Rocks walked off, leaving me alone with the door, which I proceeded to open.

Light poured into the basement, revealing a cobbled floor and pale brick walls. I stepped in.

As the door shut, putting me in blackness, I engaged my light spell. Now the radiance of the Mid Year sun was replaced with green bioluminescence. I continued my way down the steps. I was starting to make out an empty bed.

Advancing, the spell started to catch a nightstand too. On it was a piece of paper. Intelligence, though likely in Ta'agran.

My feet touched the floor. A thin streak of light was visible from up the opposite set of stairs. That meant the door to ground floor was cracked opened a bit, good, but not my first target. I crept forward, faintly hearing a female voice and some sharp impacts; the training. A second bed and nightstand were becoming visible as well, but I continued on the path to the first.

I made it, and looked down at the green-bathed document.

It _was_ in Ta'agran. It was seven paragraphs long. It was signed, though, with what appeared to be familiar words: "**Elsweyra Ja Sabiruhto" **I tried to think of where I had seen those before...

That's what the Mane had referred to us as before! This was our leaflet, translated! The enemy was reading my words; That was a little thrilling!

But I turned towards my next point of interest, the other nightstand. A second paper lied upon it. I was not down here to examine the available intelligence, but I felt a strange curiosity, so I began making my way around the mattresses, as those upstairs continued with the sounds of footsteps and commands from a woman. They were oblivious to the fact that one of the very men they had read about was in their dwelling, coming to kill them...eventually, at least.

When I arrived I could see this paper was something very different. The writing looked like something more practical, personal, and sparse, and the language did not look like Ta'agran. It looked like...Aldmeris.

My mind came back to the Elven arrows I had seen on Jilheen's back, gathered from the Renrijra Krin encampment, and then flashed with the images of the claymores which had killed Rizzani. This was the third time the mark of elves had made its way infront of me. Did that mean anything?

But getting rid of these guerillas was my first order of business. I had promised the squad I would provide reconaissance, and it was surprising how sidetracked I had already gotten. I rotated back in the direction I came and then looked to my right. I saw the stairs to the main room, but I noticed there was also a chest to the right of them. That could contain something immediately useful, so one more detour was acceptable.

It looked like it was not locked: good, as I could not pick.

Time to see the contents. With no assumptions of what might be inside, I opened it.

There were arrows, Elven, a bundle of them. There were also two swords of the same diaspora, one long and one short.

I could hear that female voice from upstairs clearer now and noticed it was not raspy like a Khajiit's. She was probably this elf.

I knew the Renrijra Krin occasionally recruited foreigners, and it would make sense that if expatriates could have sympathies for those murderous xenophobes, they could definitely embrace the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction's efforts. But this was the third Elven weapon I had seen in under a week, and not even in hands of the same faction. Was this just coincidence?

But that was a mystery for later.

Yet as I took my mind from the chest's contents I noticed a few lock picks laying by its side. Who ever this lady was, she was prepared for anything. Or at least she was trying to make these guerillas that way. That was ominous.

But it did not matter how much they were preparing for, because I was about to give them something they were not. The insurgents would die before any of that instruction could come to fruition. Instead of exploring more of the basement I should head up the steps and do the bit I had said I would. I got to walking.

Nearing the stairs, I disengaged the spell in my hand, using the sharp luminense emitted from the doorway to guide me. It looked like I should be able to see through the key hole as well. _Good, _I thought_,_ascending.

The elf's commands reminded me a lot of my Imperial Legion trainers, even with her gender and foreign language.

It would be a very limited view I could achieve, but I was zeroing in on the aperture. Hopefully I would be able to see _some_ useful forms through there.

Eight inches from the door I was when it flew opened and horror shot into me like a thousand needles! The light stung my entirety and my eyes hit a whiskery, hooded Bosmer, close enough to see the hair of his nostrils!

Neither of us had weapons in hand, both shocked, but he took action sooner, grabbing me by my arm! I internally gasped and he spun me half orbit before letting go, throwing me out of the basement into a state of merciless exposure! I went stumbling through the chamber. I was being a victim of my own terrible momentum, trying to stop myself, and succeeding only right before colliding with a large wooden board! Thank the Nine I had not knocked it over, as it was makeshift cover from whatever hostiles occupied the anterior of the chamber!

That sheilded me from the Revolutionaries for the moment but the Bosmer was advancing towards me with heavy steps and clenched fists. I quickly brandished my sword, cutting the air sharper than I had ever heard before. He halted, gave a look of frustration, and then began to back away. _He_ was unarmed, although he had been the first one among us to make a fool of the other.

Now I had temporary security, but this was not at all a good situation. I must have been far outnumbered, and I was completely unaugmented. A nigh useless scouting venture had turned into a fatal mistake, all in little more than a second!

The bulky Bosmer looked to his left, probably to his female companion. He said something in another tongue, and then got back to staring at me with the same mean expression.

Her voice rang, "Don't step out, Cyrodiil. We have seven men armed with throwing knives ready to turn you into target practice." Out of nowhere, two errors, one a shopkeeper's and one mine, had compounded on each other and put me here!"A Cyrodiil trying to sneak into a rebel base of operations is not exactly common here in Torval. You are one of those 'Heroes of New Elsweyr.' We don't believe for a second you are not still affiliated with the wretched Empire." That was not entirely surprising. How far was she from being alone in that belief, however? That was an unsettling question.

"You don't have to," I responded in husky and forceful voice, though internally cursing my circumstances. "I'm still here to save Elsweyr from the likes of _you_." Behind the faux confidence, however, my mind was rushing over everything: What were my comrades thinking? Did they have the slighest clue I was in danger or did they stew in a vile obliviousness? If I made a run for the basement, what were the odds of_not_ getting a projectile in my back? How much of a mistake had I committed by refusing to modify myself before this mission?

"Your rhetoric is just as arrogant and self-righteous in person, Cyrodiil! You're a hypocrite! You write so gallantly about Torval's suffering and helping the people of Elsweyr from the Renrijra Krin, yet you turn a blind eye to the atrocious state of the South. General Do'Dara is in charge there and you can have your entire family killed off for _making the wrong joke_!" He was_ that_ bad? Such was a disturbing new revelation on the south, but...

"You'd rather I take the path of my moral superiors back home and turn a blind eye to both?" I countered angrily. That was the kind of thought these dangerous times were mired in!

"Oh, but you've been doing _business_ with Do'Dara, we know. Supporting that tyrant." It was startling to hear that affair brought up here. I had thought that had been pretty low key. How much else did she know about my movements?

None the less, I did not show my surprise, only that I was charged with conviction. "I gave him five-hundred septims for a bottle of medicine. That's pocket change for a General. It's nothing compared to the costs I'm incurring on the Renrijra Krin and your ilk!"

She laugh nastily, sounding like a creature propelled through life by bitterness and disdain. "Costs...yes, your manish minds are always on money. Don't kid me, Imperial. You and your filthy Empire are interested only in the precious sugar groves of this province, not in 'saving' anyone."

The circumstances were different, but a familiar feeling was building in me, that angry energy, mixed with a hint of bafflement at their prespectives. "Would you let your daughter burn in a house fire if the alternative was letting a watchman save her for a bonus?" Besides, how could we ever escape that accusation, where ever we fought wars? Every land had resources.

The various systems of my body were pumping hard and fast. The propaganda war and the war of steel were meeting in this room. But what were my friends doing? How long before the enemy brought my soft flesh into their line of 'fire?' Could this be the final day of Densius Fidelis? Would I die a fool, even if a fool sure of his own righteousness? If I had keenen legs, I could jump to the basement. If I had ogre arms, I could use this wooden board as a weapon. But I was just ordinary Densius Fidelis.

Yet I noticed the lady had not responded, there was only silence.

The hostiles must have been delaying their attack for some purpose, but what purpose? Perhaps I should keep this dialogue going before their minds could stumble upon a reason to change tactics.

I added, "'Saving people' is a measure of results, not intentions," referring to her claim that I was not here to save anyone. Why was everyone these days seem so hung out on motives? And could we ever escape accusations of selfishness? All ships rose with the tide. Chaos anywhere meant danger for the locals _and_ for Cyrodiil, and it meant less production and trade of trinkets (a raw deal for everyone). And the thugs here killed far more Elsweyris than Cyrodiils. How could selfishness and altruism even be distinguished?

But no response. What were they waiting for? Did they fear me mistakenly, overestimate my abilities for some reason?

Then another invisible voice came, male and scratchy like a Khajiit's. "You save us not, Imperial! Since you arrive, shopkeepers have been murdered, houses burned, our imga brothers hung from street lamps."

Almost instantly I shot back, "Those are the atrocities of _your_ side, not of us!" with a bout of outrage, just like I had felt during so many arguments at the Arcane University.

"Our side? You mean the Renrijra Krin! We rebels are not a monolithic group, ignorant Imperial!"

"But you're their ally!" I was arguing politics with a hostile combatant, but that's not the only way this situation was emotionally arousing.

"Ally?" the catman hissed. "How is that?"

"We're their enemy. You kill us but you don't kill them. That's the only criterion there's ever been for an alliance!" My words were passionate, but they were not paramount. What was paramount was finding an escape, if there was one.

For now they were preferring dialogue to steel, but it was not clear why, so how long would that last? If they chose to move in, was it all over for me, only a day after I had met with the most powerful man in the province? Would my squadmates find my corpse and curse themselves for not acting sooner? And then what would be of the Knights of New Elsweyr? And what awaited a man, especially one like me, after death?

There was silence again. The stubby-faced Bosmer continued to look upon me with a burning gaze. The longer there was silence, the more time their thoughts had to move to something which would endorse a change in strategy.

But the quiet was broken with, "Enough of this!" from the woman. "What is the source of your powers? Is the Empire communing with Daedric Lords?" It was nice to hear an assumption so far off, but-

"I told you, I'm not with the Empire!" Would she be the only person difficult to convince?

"Liar, Cyrodiil! Just as your people have always been!" Anger.

"Why don't you tell me who _you_ are!" Perhaps she felt a prod at her soul at my 'knowledge' she was part of something larger. I hoped so.

"I am just a concerned citizen of Tamriel," she replied. Her tone was believable, her voice calm, but the words wreaked of phoniness. She began again, "There are more of you here, in this facility, aren't there?" I was prepared to lie but then realized, technically, there were not.

"No. I'm the only one." I said, trying to strengthen my voice to avoid the trepidation showing.

"Really?" she responded in a teasing, elongated manner. She could not tell truth from a lie; That was good, but would it help? "Then why don't you step and surrender yourself?"

That _almost_ seemed like a good idea. But that brought up a counter question: why had she and her friends not swarmed me yet? Did they want to take me alive?

Then there was a sharp, loud, whoosh and a thin blur from the stairwell. I realized it was an arrow from the basement, just before I heard a cry from the trainer.

_Reesaka_. My rescue! It had started, whether I was ready or not. I ripped into combat mode and immediately targeted the Bosmer; He was unarmed, but now was no time to think about ethics, so I followed through and sent a ball of frost kareening towards him.

It hit his chest and he doubled back, holding the spot, and the next thing I knew was the sound of the front door thrown opened and smacking against the wall.

I looked out to see Collects-Rocks, keenen legged, bravely and viciously springing into the group of rebel Khajiit, immediately getting to slicing, Jilheen jumping to his side right afterwards. They were fluently moving their blades from catman to catman together, all their contortions serving a purpose like a well coordinated dance. I had never seen them fight so well.

Suddenly my legs caved from under me and in a rush of panic I was falling down until my rump hit the hard floor.

I saw myself face to face with the Bosmer again, who was startlingly ressillient. I lifted my arm to cast again but he kicked it down, displaying frightening skill. Yet there was a loud zip, and an arrow penetrated his arm, culling my terror and breaking his focus long enough for me to stab my sword up behind his rib cage. That was a fatal wound, I knew, my fear melting away. His eyes met mine again when the steel was completely inside. He stared, stunned, realizing his doom had at last come, and I pulled the metal out, now red. He began to timber and I rolled out of the way.

With a loud thud the felled martial artist hit the floor, and I mentally thanked Reesaka for the distraction and got to my feet. That was a brief scare but I was ready to join my brothers fighting in the front.

Yet Ah-Marz had entered the frey and they were already nuetralizing their final targets. The catmen had put up little in the way of a fight. A few throwing knives were stuck in the nearby walls, showing the failed attempts at the guerillas' self-defense.

Before the final slain Khajiit even hit the ground, my comrades turned their attention to the woman, who I could now see was an Altmer.

Though she was pit against three monsters, she had summoned a daedric sword and shield and stood firm. Neither side moved right away, both at least partially intimated by the other. This would be a tougher fight.

I heard a sharp 'woosh' and saw one of Reesaka's arrows flying towards her. It seemed on course to hit before she, in a snap, blocked it with a single deft movement and returned to defensive posture instantly. It was an unexpected, jarring, almost surreal sight; She had _lightening_ reflexes, of a caliber I had never before witnessed. She was no ordinary warrior.

But maybe one of the swordsmen could take advantage of her blockage as an opening, use the brief exposure to get at her flesh. Reesaka and the others were probably thinking the same thing, so there might be no need to shout it; Still, this was a battle plan which actually _could_ survive contact with the enemy, so I decided to give the order outloud.

"Reesaka, fire another arrow. Jilheen, go for the opening." _She_ was at _my_ mercy this time. Jilheen-Bolineena got in a stabbing position. Savage as it was, she probably knew her demise now, though her stature remained just as it was. At least the lady could die knowing she did not go down as easily as her furry counter parts. Did she expect reward or punishment in the afterlife?

The archer fired his arrow. It flew towards her, and as before she did nothing until the last fraction of a second, blocking. But as Jilheen thrust his blade, she parried it away. Then, in a twisting sort of motion she whirled towards him. The surprised and frightened soldier lept back on his animal legs. But once the movement of both ceased, it became clear: the trainer had been impaled by Collects-Rocks.

But a line of blood was starting to emerge on Jilheen-Bolineena's chest.

The woman fell over on her side, and our attention immediately shifted to the Leyawiin Argonian, who was looking down at his wound.

Thankfully bleeding was not terrible, that brought relief. Just the very tip of the sword had sliced him, it appeared. Not many people were lucky as that when encountering a daedric weapon.

The Nibenean put his arm over his wound and then, as if to reinforce the idea not to worry, he remarked, "Tough bitch, huh?" I noticed her daedric gear fizzle out as her soul, or at least consciousness, finally passed from her body. She was a tough 'bitch' indeed. Reflexes like that must have been honed through years of training, and getting even a scratch on us was more than anyone else who had faced the 'Knights of New Elsweyr' accomplished. Who offered such molding?

And then there had been her Bosmer friend, who had caught me off guard and rather deftly used his leg to keep me from retaliating. I might have been dead if not for Reesaka's distraction. I glanced over at his corpse, blood now having made quite a way from its point of origin. "Tough _bastard_, too." They had been the only ones to put up a significant defense.

A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead, a vestige of the previous tension, as my bodily systems started to calm down.

"Who do you think those guys were?" Ah-Marz asked. That was a decent question. They could have simply been very experienced mercenaries, but in all my life I had never seen skill like that.

"Better soldiers than us." I replied. Then amended, "Not taking into account our enhancements."

We were coached by the Imperial Legion...Who could impress us?

The Blades?

The Summerset Isles' Barduun? The female _was_ an Altmer.

Those were the only two groups I could think of. The Fighters Guild could produce warriors on par with the Legion, maybe slightly superior given time, but the training she received seemed to be the best of the best.

There were no more words between us, the question just seemed to sit as our heart rates returned to normal. How could anyone of us answer it, anyway? Better we get to work on the 'clean up.'

"Let's see what we can find on the corpses." I turned to the male, who was now lying in a very large pool of blood, a piece of the aftermath of a rather large fight.

His pants had two soaked pockets I could see, but they were not bulging, so they were probably empty. None the less, getting a bit dirty was worth making sure of that, so I got my boots in the blood, an unattractive, commonplace chore of my current life, and knelt down. Nothing in the left. Nothing in the right. I flipped him over, but he had none aft.

"The lass has got nothing on her!" Jilheen-Bolineena called. Not surprising.

Still, there were likely a lot of useful items in this building. Maybe we could even find a clues as to where these two learned their prowess. I had not even got a glimpse at what was in the auxillary rooms, and half of the downstairs remained unsearched.

"Let's split up. You three search this level. Reesaka and I will handle the basement." And I swiveled around to the Argonian, who gave me a look of understanding and turned to head back down the steps where he had emerged from for my emancipation. I pushed magicka into my hand, giving us light

Trotting down the cobbled stairs, I was a bit curious as to what might be buzzing through the local minds after hearing the commotion. Then again, knowing this province, they probably were used to it.

Reaching the floor, Reesaka seemed to be awaiting the orders. The nightstand drawers were the most obvious place to search. "Check that drawer," I ordered, pointing to the further one. I began heading to the other. As I did, I wonder lightly if a guard or two might come to investigate all the noise, not that it would matter much since they had all surely been briefed on us.

Getting to the nightstand and pulling out the drawer, its sole occupants were a map and a book it was laying on top of. But before I could the map I heard a low jingle to my right and turned.

"Coins," the Reesaka said simply, holding up a sack. I nodded but got back to the map. It looked like a depiction of the coast... On the right most was Torval. Continuing west was a village called Jar'Tain; I had heard that name from Lieutenant Calvia back in the Imperial City, when he had told us about his time in Pellitine; It was a beach front town infamous for illicit dealings. Left of that, across the border, was the city of Haven, in Valenwood. That was likely the place of residence of the Bosmer, from which he had journeyed to Elsweyr. Of course, knowing simply the city from which he hailed provided little help to us. Jar'Tain, on the other hand, might be worth looking into, questioning some of the locals about who had passed through recently. Who should I send to do that? One of the translators would be needed, and I could arbitrate what information was useful easiest by being there. So I would send a Khajiit and myself.

I crumpled the map and put it in my pocket. The book below had a title which appeared to be in Aldmeris. It could be simple entertainment fiction, but I would carry it on the way out regardless.

So I was done. I stood.

Reesaka was idle again, and I turned half-circle to see what else here was searchable. There was a cupboard, a keg, and a table with two chairs. Beyond that cupboard, which likely had nothing but kitchen wares, it seemed we had searched everything on this level.

"C'mon, let's head up to help the others."


	40. Hypocrites and Tyrants

"Kappa are large creatures living in the jungles of Southern Elsweyr, often compared to crocodiles or salamanders by foreigners. They are primarily aquatic, often found in shallow ponds and rivers, but can survive on land for relatively long periods of time, aided by the indentations on the tops of their heads which store water. They are generally treated with caution when encountered in the wild, but are unlikely to attack anyone maintaining a distance of roughly thirty feet or greater. Their hide is often used as form of light armor." _- Fauna of Elsweyr, "Predators"_

Mid Year 16, 4E2

Barracks, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

The first thing which came back to me as I returned to the waking world was that yesterday had been a powerful day. I had infiltrated a guerrilla compound and almost met my end, but instead had a visceral argument with mysterious agents of the enemy. Then in the same evening we had headed to an infamous town to look for clues on the origin of those individuals, to no aviel.

Looking back into the previous day felt like staring into the horizon from the Jeralls. It just seemed like so much to take in. The words that had flown between the foreign guerrillas and I sifted through my head.

_"Don't step out, Cyrodiil. We have seven men armed with throwing knives ready to turn you into target practice."_

I had been at their mercy.

_"We don't believe for a second you are not still affiliated with the wretched Empire."_

Anger, she was so full of anger.

How many others would believe we were still part of the Empire? Would Ocato be thought a liar by the Elder Council, that he had ordered us to stay behind? Would he curse my existence, or was he secretly rooting for me?

Being the Empire was certainly not to my benefit. The Empire, with its rich and weighty history, had plenty of baggage, plenty of enemies. And everyone loves to speak truth to power, it's simply human nature. The powerful were the ones the media loved to dig up dirt on, to put under the magnifying glass, whose every atrocity was documented in the history everyone grew up with. On the other hand, very little of Tamriel had any interest in muck-racking every rag-tag guerilla force who had never touched their homeland, like the Renrijra Krin and Ri'Kissa's Front.

Though affiliated with the Empire in the public eye or not, I likely mostly bore the same curse. I would still be the subject of disproportionate attention simply as queer celebrity and bizarre apparition: the mysterious Imperial leading a squad of amazing transforming, animal-part men. And since we all made our positives well known on our own volition (which were often dismissed as propaganda anyway), attention could only be a bad thing in the war for hearts and minds, because it meant more people looking for stains.

_"You and your wretched Empire are interested only in the precious sugar groves of this province, not in 'saving' anyone."_

_"Your rhetoric is just as arrogant and self-righteous in person! You're a hypocrite, Imperial!"_

_Hypocrisy_. That word always seemed to makes its way into dialogue in this ugly Era. I had heard it so many times in the Arcane University, arguing about the war in Morrowind. Then it came from the mouth of the Imperial official who had witnessed our desertion, Crito. Crito claimed our 'hypocrisy' for fighting slavery in Morrowind but not in Black Marsh 'generated anger.' And I knew he was right. I knew, from my heated exchanges with foreigners, mostly elves like those of yesterday, that hypocrisy, real or perceived, attracted much more disdain than consistent evil. The latter could go through centuries almost unnoticed.

But I wondered: how many times had that little, insignificant word made an actual impact on politics? Did it ever intimidate national leaders? Had it ever deflected a course of history, deterred actions of heroism? Accusations had power. Reputations had power. Philosphers and historians had wondered, for centuries, why so often kings and Emperors stood by idly amid atrocities during the Third Era, why they let genocides and absurd persecutions and the cruelest tyrannies go unhindered instead of sacrificing a small amounts of their own people's blood to save a large amount of another's. Was fear of that accusation, 'hypocrite,' the reason? Did they worry that in extinguishing one evil, that would only call to attention their 'hypocrisy' for not trying to eliminate another which existed in another part of Tamriel at the same time? Or if not that, did they fear it would bring their inactions in the past into the forefront of people's minds, resulting in more distaste than admiration? Did that word haunt savvy political minds? No one seemed to know Cyrodiil 'supported' slavery in Morrowind until after the war to abolish it began, after all.

That nasty woman's words had me mulling over centuries of Tamrielic history. Perhaps appropriately so; they might have relevance that far transcended this conflict.

It had been a powerful afternoon, with powerful accusations and powerful emotions.

And now, here I was, the next day in the same reality, Turdas, underground in the Tenmar Forest, commander of a tiny renegade army, at the current end point of an avalanche of events: Defection, Rizzani's death, Dara'iin, meeting the Mane, encountering the deadly elves...how long had it taken for all this to transpire? It felt like months, but it could not have been much more than a few days.

_"General Do'Dara is in charge in the South and you can have your entire family killed off for making the wrong joke!"_

Elsweyr was the land of discord. Discord was a hideous thing.

I rolled over again, this time facing the door.

I had another report from S'Nirem to attend to. All that was standing between me and the morning routine was willpower. And there was nothing to be gained stewing over the previous day any longer.

I sat up and stood.

My stomach felt quite empty so I would have breakfast right away and get dressed later. I was the last one to rise, as per usual: being in command left me burdened with the heaviest thoughts, and heavy thoughts in the day meant heavy sleep in the night. Heading to the door, I wondered what time it was.

Opening it revealed the dining hall empty, save for two: S'Nirem (the man I wanted), eating a mango, and Collects-Rocks. I could see both of their eyes following me as I planted myself in a seat.

I was about to ask S'Nirem for a report when he swallowed hard and beat me to speaking:

"Fidelis," he addressed me by my surname for the first time in a while. "I've got some wild news."

"What is it?" I asked. I could not even begin to imagine.

"There was some kind of rebellion in the Thief's Terrace District last night. You know, the district in the South West corner of the city, one of the sections under Do'Dara's reign?"

A rebellion! It was good to hear the Khajiit fighting against that savage, somewhat relieving for my burdened soul: Do'Dara was weakened!

He continued, "It was short lived." My spirits sunk. "Kind of hard to explain but that district is split into three pieces, each at a lower alttitude than the last. There's a middle class and rich folk area, a lower class area, and poor area. The rebellion originated in the poor area. The General put a stop to it real quick, and then flooded that spot and had it electrified."

Flooded and electrified! I was flabbergasted at what I had just heard! What he had done was...genocidal!

"He killed everyone?" I was wide eyed and stunned. Such a crime was almost surreal!

"Not quite," S'Nirem amended. "Just everyone who wasn't smart enough to get off ground level."

The horrors were jaw dropping. This man was a monster, that was becoming so rapidly apparent! What I had heard from the Altmer was bad, and now it was even worse than I thought.

Then the Elsweyr-native continued, "I heard all about it from a refugee telling the story to the entire Ja-had Jode Tavern. A few people did manage to escape in the chaos, but, like any tyrant worth his salt, Do'Dara's making it extremely hard to leave his little 'country.'"

The Renrijra Krin was bad enough, and now we had someone equally evil controlling the South of the city!

I could already feel his existence weighing heavily on me. Dear Nine, the poor Elsweyris! I looked down in distress.

"Don't you think we should do something, Densius?" Collects-Rocks asked with a childish innocence. That was the second time I had been referred to by name. Perhaps the atrociousness of these events pierced protocol and brought our underlying humanity back to bear.

I looked up. "What can we do? We're having trouble holding off the Krin here as it is." Indeed, the tides of evil were so strong in this province. It was the harsh reality that a few men could not put a stop to all of them right away.

"Maybe we can...arm an uprising?" the young Argonian proposed in a desperate naivety.

It was S'Nirem who responded first, "I reckon Do'Dara's little kingdom is the most tightly controlled society in the world right now. I doubt we could ever pull that off." Indeed, the elves had told me the wrong joke could get you killed in his new 'nation.' Not to mention Do'Dara's people had just seen the consequences of a revolt.

I brought that up: "I don't think they'll be eager to try rebelling again after what happened last night."

It was the other two with their gazes down now. The truth was there was nothing rational we could do to make the situation better. Do'Dara was a powerful man, he would be able to do awful things. We could not change that.

And for now it seemed there was nothing more but the cruel silence. I was beginning to feel like we were in over our heads, and felt a sudden intense nostalgia for the peace and warmth of my home province, where crime was a little problem kept at bay with a few arrests, where I had no hard decisions to make and the worst men in the world were far, far away.

Even if we could fix this place, would I ever be welcome back in the Empire? I had deserted after all, committed a felony. Could a Potentate pardon? If he could, would he? I should have his sympathy as a warrior for the Elsweyri cause, but a pardon would result in uproar, maybe even his impeachment. Ironic that I, the great patriotic pioneer, might live the rest of my life as a pariah from the nation I had given the whole of Black Marsh to.

But we had to focus on the present.

Even _if_ we could make Do'Dara's regime dissappear, that did not mean reuptake of divine rule there. The Renrijra Krin would undoubtably fill the void. After all, even if with allied forces having an ample presence in the _north_ of the city, we were having trouble keeping the Krin at bay. No doubt they would take over instantly in the event of a power vacuum in the south.

The best we could do is fight them here. We might one day establish peace in the north and then, perhaps, the King's and the Mane's forces could build up the moxie for an assault on the other half of Torval.

Until we gained strength, Do'Dara was simply something we would have to hold our noses to. For now, I just had to fight the guerrillas in the north. Gaining this ground was our first step. Then, eventually, after we succeeded, we could turn our eyes to other evils. Yet I would have to take this day by day, bastard by bastard.

Elsweyr was a cruel land, but dealing with that was like eating an elephant: it had to come one bite at a time. One dead evil doer by one dead evil doer.


	41. The Safest Place in Torval

"These _khajiit_ are all feline in aspect, some far more than others. A particular family-tribe, or pride, might include a hunting party of males that appear like upright jaguars, a few beautiful youths who could pass for Elves were it not for their swishing tails, an uncle or two that would stalk the perimeters on all fours, and a chief who, depending on the moons of his birth, might have the form of any of the above." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Mid Year 19, 4E2

Commerce District, Torval

* * *

It was relatively cool morning in Torval, and I was making good on the promise I had made to myself last night: to buy helmets. The close call Collects-Rock's cranium had had with a warhammer yesterday startled us all. We had cleared out the safe house, the final marker on the map, but if the boy's reflexes had been an eighth of a second slower his skull would have been cracked. We had plenty of coin with all the salvaged merchandise sold, and it was about time we spent it. I was not going to buy one for everyone, as usually I commanded the men from behind and Reesaka fought at a distance.

S'Bassa was who I brought along for this exchange, since S'Nirem was consistently the more burdened one, going around talking to locals nearly every morning. Maybe I would send him out during the evening for a change one of these days.

Now we were about the round the corner of a skooma den.

When we did, the sight a few doors down immediately struck us. A scantily clad Ohmes woman's body was hanging from the chimney of what looked to be a brothel, a crimson stain running down from her throat. A harsh sight for civilians...though no doubt a large number of them had already seen worse. One more tragedy the forces of light had failed to stop, one more sign of the weakness of the current government. My spirits sunk and soured at sights like this, like they had so many times in Dune. There was a watchwoman standing in front of the grizzly scene, taking notes. Since I was heading that way anyway I might as well ask her what had happened.

This part of town had few pedestrians: not the emptiest I had seen it, but hardly crowded either. For all the work we had done, the city's people were still as scared of their own neighborhood. But I had to be strong and unflinching in my resolve to keep Renrijra Krin's claws from wrapping any tighter around our dear Elsweyr; All we needed was courage and time and eventually we _had_ to outlast the enemy. And I could hope finding those artifacts might give us a little boost..

But while my own courage was in my control, how long before Elsweyr's broke? With cracked windows and littered streets, a lot of denizens of Torval must have lived with broken hearts and strong desire to give up.

Now that I was close to the watchwoman, I asked, "What happened here?"

"Jarrar ta?" she replied. I had gotten too used to meeting those who happened to speak my language.

S'Bassa took over. "Ja sid 'Ka zajjad dobba?', siyid."

The guard gave a lengthy, Ta'agran answer.

Once she finished S'Bassa turned to me and said, "The prostitute laid down with a foreigner and some of the local radicals found out." And now she was hung out to dry for all to see. The 'ultra-nationalists' could find a thousand excuses to kill someone.

I thanked the guard, S'Bassa translated, and then we got back to walking.

There was a nearby Tojay ahead and to my right, glaring at me. _Why?_ I consciously focused my eyes ahead, pretending he did not have the lion's share of my attention, though I did feel reserved about the quality of the illusion. His gaze did not seem to move. What did he want from me? Might he have been the killer, unnervingly returning to the scene of the crime, looking at my foreign blood with disdain?

My muscles tightened upon passing him, bracing for some sort of sudden impact, though nothing happened, of course.

I let him seep out of my mind.

"I don't get it," S'Bassa confessed, reclaiming my attention. "Didn't the Renrijra Krin just start out of some movement trying to get land back from Leyawiin that was taken from Elsweyr?" I sensed a pinch of sympathy for that cause in his voice, mixed with a tiny bit of heart-break that it had twisted and mutated into what we saw now. Normally I would have been put on guard by such sympathies, but I felt no offense as we were unified in a quest against their current barbarities.

"They've changed a lot," I admitted. "I'm not sure why, but the land by Lake Makapi is hardly even on their agenda now." They had once been little more than an annoyance, a fly, to the Empire. They had killed a few soldiers near the border but that was about it. Now they and their evil had mushroomed so much it was surreal.

"Well, I mean, I know why they're here: they're here because of the Empire's troops. But why have they become so..." He strained his mind for his best word word, probably because he was trying to give them more deference than they deserved.

"Psychotic?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know," I replied. "I guess it's a drug, you get deeper and deeper into the habit, until you forget who you are and what you used to aspire to." _Wow, that was profound! _I had pulled that poetic insight out of nowhere, but it seemed solid.

Elsweyr had been moving in the wrong direction for a long time. Would I ever live to see the currents reverse? That's what I fought for every day, but was it really realistic?

"Who are those other guys we're fighting?" S'Bassa then asked. "The...Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction?"

"Yeah," I replied. Though it was hard to tell how many of our enemies were freelance rebels, since none of them wore uniforms, and the line between common criminals and guerrillas was often blurred here. "I think they might have even been fighting us _here_ before the Renrijra Krin." Regardless, the resulting chaos from the insurgency gave the Krin a perfect chance to entrench itself in the province, just like so many other outlaws. The Oblivion Crisis would have provided the same opportunity if Imperial troops had not been sent here to compensate the damage the daedra did, but that compensation was cancelled out by the 'nationalistic' violence against us.

And now the marks of discord were everywhere. Broken windows, nigh empty streets, private guards hired because the citywatch was too sparse or too cowardly to adequately hold the forces of evil at bay...

Snapping out of thought, at last I noticed the guild halls, the Fighter's Guild in particular, were not far, across the street.

As usual there was no traffic on the roads, so we crossed diagonally. The sky had grown cloudy. We might just avoid a shower.

The Fighter's Guild was probably the only guild operating in Elsweyr without mixed feelings, since its self-defense was no problem. For everyone else, it was a dangerous theater; guild workers were regularly kidnapped and murdered, seen as collaborators with an enemy nation. The Fighter's Guild, however, not only was protected from threats by itself, but profited from the threats to others.

As we approached the entrance, I could feel a tiny droplet hit my face. Yes, we would get in just before the rain.

We opened the door.

Immediatly we were greeted with the sight of a hulking Imperial mercenary in mithril; Mean expression, hearty-face, tall, and whiskery. Even to a Legionnarre, or former Legionnare, he was imposing, someone I could imagine ripping me in half in an unarmed confrontation.

None the less, I said, "Excuse me, do you know where we can purchase armor?"

With his thumb he pointed to the room behind him. "Gorinor. He's out for breakfast now, but should be back at his station soon." Being rough and tumble looking did not put one beyond the courtesy of petty assisstance.

"Thanks."

The man did not respond and simply walked out the door we had entered. He was polite just enough to reach the point of decency, but the image of him ripping me in two lingered.

The interior of this place was surprisingly homey and nicely kept. There was a wine wrack nearby, paintings on the walls, and there were a couple of wooden chairs just by the doorway to the room with the forge, Gorinor's station, facing the front entrance. I decided we would go sit.

As we approached, people to my right were conversing. I sat and looked to see a Redguard with bushy hair and a suited-up Khajiit with a Dwemer sword and armor arguing. Both bore the accents of their aboriginal province.

"Oh come on, politics is motivated by cold self-interest, not compassion," the catman insisted. "Only a full fledged Cyrodiil would say otherwise. Why would the Empire want to bring 'safety and peace to Elsweyr.' They've never wanted that. I think all the violence and terrorists, they _want_ it here!" Anger started to simmer in me. Could one never escape these kinds of people? He believed we wanted a xenophobic, Cyrodiil-hating terrorist state as our neighbhor?

"But Jahirr, what about the shipments of food to Torval? The medicine given to the sick? I think the Empire really wants to help your people." It was deeply pleasing to hear someone with a foreign accent defending Cyrodiil. I felt strongly like I owed him something.

But they were implying the Empire was still in Elsweyr...were they talking about me...while I was, unbeknownst to them, a mere ten feet away?

"With all the war making they've been doing, they need a way to looking like ra'farithizad! It's just theatrics!" I could infer what that strange word meant from context. He must have been claiming all the charity we gave was just for show, for our image. Anger surged in me again as I stared injustice in the face. All acts of good were dismissed as stagecraft, while only sinister acts were recognized as truth! No wonder politics was so much easier for those who stood by idly when foreign nations were in crisis! Doing no acts of good and no acts of evil earned more respect than ten acts of good and one act of evil as long as Tamriel thought this way. I boiled, feeling foul inside at the dynamics of Fourth Era psyche.

Then the front entrance opened and a balding Altmer and a dark Argonian came in conversing jovielly. That elf looked like a smith. As they parted, the lizardman was heading for the stairs behind me, while the elf appeared to be heading for Goronir's room. _Yes._

Though my mind was still somewhat mired in the debate to my right, I stood up. "Hey, are you Gorinor?"

Wide eyed, he replied with a Colovian voice, "Why yes, how may I serve you?" A fellow countryman. I liked that.

"I was looking to buy some armor, helmets in particular. Do you have some spare ones in stock?" The Imperial Legion often thought of Fighter's Guild members as overpaid asses, but this man was rather polite, and I felt some pang of associative guilt at that perception.

"Why yes, I believe so. Come with me." So far, so good. He headed to the forge and I followed.

There was a wrack of helmets almost immediately visible. Three were steel, one was glass, one was mithril. Three steel helmets meant three cheap helmets. Circumstances matched my wants for once in this province.**  
**

He turned to me with his friendly expression and asked "How many do you need?"

"I'd like three."

"Three? Three of steel?"

"Yes." Perfect luck; _About damn time._ Fortune owed me a debt. He went over to grab all three and then placed them down on the counter. I removed my purse. The Lady Luck was finally throwing me a bone..

I could recall seeing helmets of the same metal in the Imperial City for sale at one-hundred-fifty septims. That meant these would sell for...approximately four-hundred fifty total? Yes, that was right. I did not have_ that_ much coin on me; I was, however, carrying a nice golden ring (taken from a corpse, but he did not need to know). I fished it from my purse and placed it on the counter.

"Will this cover it?" I had a feeling he would demand more, since he did not seem the type to have much use for jewelry.

He looked down pensively, rubbing his chin.

"How about another fifty septims and we will make it a deal?" he asked brightly.

Maybe not a perfectly fair price but not an irritatingly expensive one either. We had plenty of money regardless, a very nice stash of gold back at the sanctuary.

"Alright," I fished out five ten-septim coins, putting them one by one on the wooden surface.

Then our transaction was set and I swept the three helmets into my arms, the man behind the counter smiling politely. I had parted with some treasure and gained some practical items in exchange, like every good warrior should.

"Thanks," I said to the pleasant gentleman.

"Take care."

I wondered if he knew who I was?

Turning to the exit, I saw S'Bassa had remained seated. But as I started walking to the door, he followed.

Yet through the door I could hear the heavy patter of rain. I had forgotten the weather. I turned to S'Bassa. "Maybe we should wait out the storm."

"Yeah," he replied. We headed back to our chairs. I would not mind a bit of rest, anyway.

I tried to block out the conversation to my right, so maybe I could actually enjoy our stay here; This was likely the safest place in Torval. It was largely spared the ravages of war, thanks to the fact that it was a warriors' nest.

All that waited us outside were desolate, crime ridden streets, where thousands wanted me dead. All I had to come 'home' to ws a dank underground safe house haunted by ghosts of a failed Imperial occupation. As the Khajiit and Redguard parted, I decided I would not mind staying here until the clouds expended themselves.


	42. That One Relic

"Because the fire of the projection is both fueled and encased by a magicka field, the fire will not continue to burn upon impact unless it is augmented to do so for a set amount of time. Rather, it provides a short blast of heat on the target. While this somewhat reduces the destructive effectiveness of the spell, especially against organic targets, it also stabilizes the projectile, protects the caster, and prevents out of control forest fires resulting from simple acts of self-defense." -_Basic Destruction Magic, "Heat and Fire"_

Mid Year 19, 4E2

Near Subterranean Sanctuary, Tenmar Forest

* * *

Out of the city, I no longer worried about being a vulnerable symbol of a hated army. But deactivation of such fears only made way for other bothersome thoughts; more specifically, the conversation I had heard at the Fighter's Guild Hall:

_"Oh come on, politics is motivated by cold self-interest, not compassion. Only a full fledged Cyrodiil would say otherwise. Why would the Empire want to bring 'safety and peace to Elsweyr.' They've never wanted that. I think all the violence and terrorists, they want it here!"_ The feisty catman had said.

_"But Jahirr, what about the shipments of food to Torval? The medicine given to the sick? I think the Empire really wants to help your people."_ The virtuous Redguard had responded.

_"With all the war making they've been doing, they need a way to looking like ra'farithizad! It's just theatrics!"_

I had brooded and boiled over the words and the injustices those words had implied, and had uncovered yet another abomination in analyzing them: if politics was seen to be all self-interest, then there could not be noble acts in its purview. Acts of good would be written off as business endeavors, self-interest that happened to benefit others, while acts of evil would be held up as examples of stark reality. Only bad acts would have meaning in people's hearts, and thus a nation of a thousand heroics and one despicable act would be more loathed than a nation of apathy. The psyche of the modern Era was constructed almost as if in opposition to any leader like Ocato or Uriel, who might pull peoples out of its fires.

But close to our base, maybe discourse with my comrades could take my mind from the words of Fighter's Guild Khajiit.

The usual drooping leaves and ferms greeted us on the way to the entrance. Soon I could put this gear down and have free hands again. At least we had finally cashed some of the treasure we had built up for practical merchandise.

Now that our commercial chore was out of the way, I did not have anything further on the agenda. For the first time since going rogue, I was staring at a blank tablet. I supposed it was a blessing, but I would get to thinking about our next moves as soon as I settled in.

At last my feet touched the stone of the anciently carved steps and I began my descent. This was the place of rest for the Knights of New Elsweyr, who would go down in history as great heroes or great fools, seeing if we could succeed where the Empire had twice failed: once in the 'Septimian Rebellion', and once in the war that brought me here. At the very least, we would make it a little more costly for the Renrijra Krin to subjugate Elsweyr, make some wicked warlord in the future think twice about trying to spread his tyranny.

Hitting the bottom, I made my way to the wall and pressed the brick in the darkness. The slab of stones lowered itself.

Walking in, we turned to the armory only to see the door was opened and behind the main table stood every other member of our unit! On that table was a seemingly miscellaneous assortment of objects: a staff, a bow, a bracer...I realized what was splayed out: the artifacts! M'Dazzir's hidden prizes, lost legacy! They had found them at last!

This would not be an empty day after all!

I placed the helmets down near the near edge almost absent mindedly.

"You found them?"

Although uninvolved in the hunt, it was S'Nirem who responded. "Yes sir, Fidelis. We haven't tested them yet but these are the genuine work of the great M'Dazzir The Unpleasant!"

All the items were glowing with magical charge, set neatly side by side. There was a knarled staff, a simple bow, a leather bracer, and a brass ring. Less gracefully lying next to them were some papers with sloppy, irregular writing, complex equations, and vague sketches. Also there were a handful of soul gems, each at least partially filled.

"The man's notes are a little arcane," S'Nirem said. "I didn't bother to translate them, but I can if you would like." No doubt they would have great value to the mage community...if they could be deciphered. But that was not what I should be focusing on right now, I should be focusing on what this meant for my _current_ life, as a Knight of New Elsweyr, the ambitious renegades, the heroes carrying forth the vision of the unpopular Potentate Ocato.

I looked back up. "You said you haven't tested them." My mind could feel a vortex of curiousity.

"No sir," the Elsweyr native replied. "I mean, yes sir. Or rather, yes I said that, and no, we have not tested them."

They all looked to have most or all of their energy remaining. Grand things awaited us today! We would now be twice augmented: once in flesh, once with the relics of a brilliant mage!

I picked up the bow. I was not sure how enchanted bows usually worked, when their effect first manifested. I tried pulling the string back even absent of an arrow. Nothing.

"Get me an arrow," I said without looking up. What power might this hold? Soon a scaley hand offered me an Elven one. I put the object in place (struggling a bit at first as an inexperienced archer) and then turned towards the wall and pulled the string back. Still, the arrowhead did not catch fire or frost over or do anything to show the effect this was endowed with. I could shoot, but something told me that in a place this enclosed such was not a good idea. I relaxed the weapon.

I looked back to my comrades. "Let's test this stuff outside. And Reesaka, how about you take the bow." I handed it to him with the complementary arrow. It was time for some exciting discoveries! I grabbed the staff, only the second one I had touched in my life, and surely the more significant of the two. S'Nirem took the bracer and Collects-Rocks took the ring. Smartly, neither put them on yet. I rotated and began walking out the door, and heading out the secret entrance we had just entered through, with thrill flowing through my bones. We would make the ghosts of these ruins proud! I passed through the entryway, over the mossy brick floor, and began ascending the stairs.

My spirits were lifting. The sun was shining brightly above. The sky was now nearly cloudless and a beautiful hue of blue. Elsweyr was a beautiful land, hopefully we could bring it peace to match the elegance of its wilderness. This piece of Tamriel had been the epitome of harmony once, maybe we could make it so again.

Arriving back at the world up top, I knew some unlucky plants would feel the wrath of this staff and bow today.

I walked forward a bit, turned half-circle, and then waited for the others to emerge. S'Bassa, Jilheen-Bolineena, Collects-Rocks, S'Nirem, Reesaka, and Ah-Marz all arrived on the surface in that order. I was excited.

With them all standing at attention, I really felt like an officer now. I turned Eastward and picked the trunk of a relatively straight, thick tree, one which reminded me a lot of those back home. "Reesaka, fire at that tree." The first order, the first test.

He pulled the string back, and then as he released it there was an odd, tiny, purple flash of about where the arrow met the bow. The projectile flew forwards and I braced for its impact, wondering what it might display!

It stuck in the wood and quivered.

With an unusual verocity? Was it embedded at a greater than usual depth? That is what I wanted to believe, but I felt deep down I had witnessed nothing unusual. A failure?

Maybe it needed to be tried on a different surface. Could it...have a deadly effect against metallic armor? We could test that later.

M'Dazzir was the type of magician who would leave behind a lot of mistakes. He wanted to break new ground, and most attempts at that failed in any art...or perhaps not in _all_ arts, but at least spellcraft. We could not expect every one of these to work.

Still, if this weapon was indeed a dud, as I believed it was, that was a blow.

But we had three more.

I looked back to the gathering.

S'Nirem had the leather bracer in hand. "S'Nirem, try that on, tell me if you can feel any effects."

And so he did.

No magical aura illuminated his body, nothing on his face indicated any effect. "I can't feel anything, sir."

_No._ I sunk. That was two misfortunes in a row. Half the artifacts. Surely fate would not...

Maybe its effect was simply hidden by the current circumstances. "Keep it on," I said. "If it's some sort of skill enhancer maybe you'll realize the effects later." I thought of the attributes it might boost: Social skills. Dexterity. Strength. Given that the latter two would be far more useful in the hands of a soldier in the forefront of the battle, I amended, "Or maybe another one of you can try it later. I'll get on that after we're done here."

But that was two impotent items in a row. I hoped their powers simply could not manifest in this situation, but I felt, in the pit of me, that such was not the case, they were simply failures. I hoped with every fiber of my being this trend would not continue. We had searched so long, hoped so hard...Some demoralizing feelings were tugging at my soul, but I had to ignore them, to soldier on.

I looked to Collects-Rocks, who was standing innocently with the tiny brass adornment between his scaley appendages. "Rocks, put on that ring." And the Argonian carefully slipped it upon his index finger as my muscles tightened.

And then he recoiled violently and yelped, closing his eyes tightly. I felt both fear and eager promise.

He stopped himself, and with his eyes still closed pulled off the jewelry. Looking the littlest bit shaken up, but otherwise fine, the young man said,"All I saw was a bright light."

That sounded like a botched enchantment.

That was three. I felt a surge of frustration, and then I felt like I had broken glass in my throat. All this searching, all this expectation, faith in something that might at last turn our cause, all destroyed by nothing more than bad luck! What was this, the Nine's practical joke?

I tried to collect myself. I was a soldier, and a leader too now. As much as I wanted to throw a tantrum, I could not be childish. There was still one more artifact to bank on, and it was in my hands. Could the one source of power lie in this staff? There was no reason not to believe, but I could not help feel I was cursed, that the trend just had to continue.

I turned back in the direction of the tree Reesaka had shot. _Please work. _I tensed deep inside.

The birds around me sang indifferently.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, maybe this one will show some results." I stated, voice not betraying any of what I felt.

I had not used a magical staff since becoming a soldier, but they were simple to discharge. The only thing delaying me was anticipation of another slap in the face from the cosmos.

I made the motion.

Something did fly out of the end, to my glee: A bright ball of fire! Different, somehow? More concentrated? Unclear. And I did not know what I would see when it hit, that could still be unspectacular, but as it careened towards the already once injured tree, I let my hopes rise.

It impacted and it exploded magnificently! The radius engulfed the nearby fauna in a sphere the size of a modest house!

The fire faded out of existence quickly, only the swath of destruction showing evidence of its visit, but ample evidence it was!

The entire purview was left black, save for a few glowing embers. Charcoal ferns, charcoal bushes, charcoal vines. Even six feet of the trunk upon which the spell collided was ashen.

I felt like laughing! This weapon had not just met my expectation, it had exceeded them! Right when I was so close to having my heart crushed, this one relic compensated all the disapointments!

A gust of wind blew and we watched the combusted leaves disintegrate into dark wisps carried away by the wind. The intact segment of tree began to tilt from its ashen base, with some splintering noises and a groan. It then was delivered to the mercy of gravity and timbered to the ground. The felled giant made a mighty crash, like a divine stamp on this weapon's awesomeness. This was no ordinary magical staff.

I could sense everyone else's amazement as well. This one object, this one success, had demonstrated tremendous power, a kind that would be so practical and deadly on the field of battle! And looking at it, it had not even seen a fifth of its energy expended! It would put fear into the countless evil hearts of Torval, and put power in our hands! It would leave its mark of wide swaths of cinders for all to gawk at, with the unwritten signature of the mysterious, fearsome foreigners, The Knights of Elsweyr. It would be a symbol of hope for the innocent and fear for the wicked in this tumultuous morsel of time and space!


	43. Field Test

"Perhaps one of the most endearing looking creatures in Elsweyr is the capybara. A large rodent with brown fur and a flat snout, they are occassionally hunted for skin and meat. They are often found near bodies of water such as lakes and streams in the jungles of the south.

A more deceptively harmless looking creature of Elsweyr is the Mi'raj. Nicknamed 'unicorn bunny' by Topal the Pilot, this highly territorial creature looks much like a yellow rabbit, except for a sharp, black horn on its head. This horn is often used by the people of Elsweyr in healing tonics. Though it does not eat meat, it is highly defensive of its space, and often those travelling the Tenmar wilderness will invade its territory on accident. This creature also exists in the deserts of the north, though hostile encounters between it and travelers are less likely because it can be seen from a great distance." _- Fauna of Elsweyr, "Herbivores"_

Mid Year 21, 4E2

Cartha Gardens, Torval

* * *

Jogging towards the destination, summer's sweat dripping down onto my shirt, I carried the knarled piece of wood, the relic of Elsweyr's last great mage, with precedence.

I could imagine their eagerness to see what powers the proud, mysterious foreigner had at his finger tips. We could compensate the weakness of the citywatch this day. They had planned to await reinforcement that would take hours, before charging into the building where nine guerrillas stood ready, no doubt anticipating to take some losses of their own. I would make that unnecessary.

I was passing wanted posters and broken bottles, with only S'Bassa and Collects-Rocks behind me. I was about to bring new hope to the forces of light, and new fear to the agents of darkness.

I could not wait to see the face of the officer when that abandoned workshop for cartographers was turned to ashes. According to the plan I had proposed, with S'Bassa's translation, I would stand at a distance. The door would be picked and thrown opened without any of the guards exposing themselves, and I would fire the spell into its core.

Rounding the last corner, I could see the six men, the officer watching me with his colorful, goofy hat that denoted his position in the citywatch.

I stopped. They knew what to do from here. This mighty angel, hammer of the gods, had given them the plan.**  
**

Their bandanna-faced specialist moved in to pick the lock. The Renrijra Krin inside no doubt had ears keen to the metallic rustling, and they would know something was coming, but had not the slightest idea what.

As fit with the plan, the others were parting from the entrance. Bandanna-Face would be the lone one remaining by the door when I gave the word, though he would bolt away immediately after he had given the door its momentum. I did not know that this weapons blast would burn through the outer walls, but there was no reason to risk it.

The picking was finished. The others had removed themselves a comfortable distance, making way for the incoming blast. The specialist awaited only my signal. We had not yet established what that signal was, but I would make sure they understood.

Anticipation was building in my gut at finally getting to use this weapon in the field. Under my breath, I said to S'Bassa, "Now." The Colovian would translate that as he pleased.

"Ahak!" he shouted.

Immediately the guardsman threw opened entrance and time slowed.

In the discharging motion, I struck downward with the staff. As the staff descended, I could see my first glimpse of the weapon's impending victims. There was a Tojay-Raht with a crossbow aimed squarely out entrance, projected on a path to right where I stood. I had already planned on diving away from this position once the staff had delivered, though. The piece of wood settled at the appex of its motion. I would only occupy this spot of road for a quarter-second more.

The specialist had just let his right foot reach the ground as the fireball disconnected from its mother.

The staff and spell were independent now: That was my cue. Without an iota of time wasted, legs like pistons, I dived leftward from the site.

My intense concentration disengaged. The world was a blurr for half a second, the doom of the guerillas and the fruitlessness of their attacks already sealed, before I hit the dirt, hearing the harsh zip of a crossbow bolt crossing through my previous location.

I got my eyes on the doorway just in time to see the spell detonate.

The fireball exploded, nigh instantaneously swallowing up the visible guerrillas, turning them into black silhouttes before they were lost entirely in the cloud of inferno. And as the radius expanded towards the entrance, it was not long before the area around the door, about six feet on either side, was eaten threw.

That was the first Torval had seen of this weapon, and those were the first men it had killed.

When the fire faded, the edges of its effects were dotted with glowing embers. The guerrillas had been reduced to charred skeletons. The skeletons, diverse shapes and sizes, fell to their knees, and then unto their faces. I had not seen destruction so total and instant in a while, a disturbing reminder of how little stood between life and death, and I could not deny the sight was somewhat unpleasant to watch.

Then I could hear yelps of surprise and fear from the corners of the building.

I saw two lith Khajiit bodies run out from opposite extremes of the ruin. They snared the attention of the citywatch immediately.

"Dur kiss!" he commanded, and he and three of his men began chasing after the one heading north, while the rest bolted after the one heading south. The hideout's defenses had gone from mighty, to a couple of secondaries fleeing like rats.**  
**

It was all from one discharging of my artifact, the relic of a reculsive mage hidden in an innocuous jungle ruin for centuries, largely forgotten. And unlike me, it remained above the dirty ground, perhaps the respect it deserved.

The ruins smoked up into the indifferent blue sky: a powerful and thrilling display. The floor was made of stone tiles, so it was not producing smog, but all the walls very.

The sounds the citywatch's feet were quite faded now. It looked like this piece of town was to myself, although I could see a few local residents peaking out from their homes. The Khajiit had few powerful wizards, so even with all the war around them, the locals had probably never seen destruction of this magnitude deployed. And even if the war had been in High Rock, I doubted any Breton could have done this alone.

I propped myself up, left side covered in dirt, sternum of my shirt dark with sweat, but all of that petty compared to what was in my hands, and what I looked upon.

I did not even bother to dust off. I just started to walk towards the remnants of the building, almost entranced by the sight.

What trinkets had those souls, who probably left Mundus before understanding their fate, left behind?**  
**

A large warhammer remained intact in the hands of a Senche. A desk could be see through the burned off wall of one of the outer rooms. In comical contrast, a painting remained hanging perfectly intact only a couple feet from the destruction.

There was some murmuring from the civilians who had left their houses to observe the aftermath, but I ignored them, focusing on the ruin with tunnel vision.

Embers glowed softly at the edge of the spell's effect, a faint memory of the magic's fury. Gray vapor rose from the human remains.

And at last my foot set upon the smote ground. The smell of smoke was intense, and the air I inhaled felt dry and ashen, but I took it all in stride, feeling oddly in my element. This was part of who I was now.

I looked upon those dead previously obscured. One wore elven armor, and near its body lied elven arrows spilled gracelessly across the floor. Near it, another skeleton, a Suthay, died holding duel Khajiiti daggers, a shred of kappa armor remaining on its chest, albeit completely synged, like smoked slaughter fish scales.

All the peripheral rooms, which housed desks, had at least their inner corners burned off, making crude entry points in addition to their doors. Some of the desks were intact, some were partially singed.

Maybe I should see what was in the desks. I turned.

Likely the metal doorhandle was uneffected by the spell's heat, seeing as the wood of the door was unscathed, but, just in case, I opened it with my foot.

Flowers in the vase and portrait of a Khajiiti king on the wall, most of the room was innocently untouched. And on the desk was a piece of paper: A large map of some kind. I approached and looked down.

It was actually multiple maps. It showed four locations, all with two levels of specificity, all in the north of the city. One of them was here!**  
**

Did this map show three other safehouses? Were they all equally occupied?

This staff might have a lot more work cut out for it...already.

There was no reason to leave this intelligence to the citywatch, they had already been unable to accomplish what I had here. I folded the map and put it in my pocket.

If this was as it appeared, the Renrijra Krin had just triggered quite a chain reaction, and this weapon would have quite a feast today. The streets of Elsweyr were soon to get a lot more safe.**  
**


	44. Battle Plans

"We fight for Elsweyr, but we do not ally ourselves with the Mane, who symbolizes our land. We believe in justice, but do not follow laws." - Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

Mid Year 26, 4E2

Subterranean Sanctuary, Tenmar Forest

* * *

Our armory had become a thing of beauty. We had acquired so many weapons, many had replaced inferior predecessors. Our wracks showcased shining scimitars, a pair glass daggers, an orchish warhammer, and even a few daedric darts. And we had acquired yet more elven weapons aswell (one picked from a short, Bosmeri looking skeleton.)

All this was thanks to our _greatest_ weapon, which lay on the table: the staff. It had allowed us to clear out three more hideouts of almost equal occupancy with little more than a picked door, a swift kick, and a deft movement of the hand. Most of the weapons on the wrack had already been heated by its fires.

And since those massive, quickly successive blows to the Renrijra Krin, it seemed things had been relatively quiet in Torval. We had little to follow up on, the only intelligence we found being a map to Dune and (interestingly) Skingrad, but S'Nirem had said the locals found the last few days unusually placid. It had only been a few days, it was early to tell if that meant anything, yet the implications were grand! The other artifacts had not shown their uses, but I felt no sadness in that!

I was jolted out of my smug thoughts by a knock on the door. I turned to see S'Nirem, holding out a piece of parchment.

"Looks like you've made the Pundit," he said with a husky sense of humor. It soured my affect a bit to hear their name again; it had been a while. But I accepted what he handed to me.

Maybe I should not read it. The Fourth Era Pundit had provided little usefulness in the past. But I was eager to see how Densius Fidelis would be portrayed in their ink, and to see the manifestation of my new found fame. Perhaps it would also indicate the degree to which any of my secrets could be compromised.

Besides, admiring the inventory was not going to keep me entertained for the whole day.**  
**

I oriented the paper and began.

**_The Fourth Era Pundit:_**

**The Empire Lied!**

Yet another person who did not believe I was my own boss. In retrospect, why should anyone? And what did poor Ocato think of all this, with so many people labeling him a liar?

**Despite the Empire's claim of recall, it would appear occupation of Elsweyr continues. While it is true that tens of thousands of Imperial Legion soldiers have indeed left Khajiiti land, the people of this poor, ravaged nation have discovered that covert operatives remain, to continue Cyrodiil's subjugation!**

**One of these men has been sighted repeatedly in Torval, a young Imperial often in the company of Argonians. He has been striking down local freedom fighters and even entering the palace gates of the corrupt Mane's royal courtyard!**

**"We will fight the invaders whatever form they take!" says a statement from the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction. "Just as ancient Cyrodiils overthrew the yoke of the Aylied slave masters, we will free ourselves from the oppression of the Cyrodillic Empire!"**

**The Imperial Palace has, of course, disavowed these enigmatic outsiders, but the agents' professionalism is undeniable. Worse, they appear to in possession of some mighty and mysterious shape-shifting powers. This has been confirmed in multiple sightings, where men with giant claws or the arms of ogres or even Khajiit-like faces are spotted on the streets of Elsweyr's capital. While these terrifying claims were originally dismissed as madness, their veracity now seems undeniable.**

**"I get how they've been doing it now!" said one Torval resident, Dro'Chira the sugar farmer. "All that violence the government is saying has been committed by our own country men: it's them! Using that fancy shape-shifter magic to make themselves look like us, and then murdering and raping and robbing our citizens!"**

**Other denizens are coming to agree with this theory. But regardless of its integrity, one thing is clear: the Empire lied. The Imperial tyranny continues. **

**-Kieta**

My blood was boiling. What foolish excuse had I again conjured to read this tripe?

The Fourth Era Pundit and the minds of the Elsweyris had found a way to turn even the Hist sap against us. Even if only a handful of Elsweyris believed Dro'Chira's theory, it seemed the more power one had, the more ridiculous the accusations against him would become. Why the hell would we even orchestrate Khajiit on Khajiit crime? How on Nirn did Elsweyr's violence benefit us?

Maybe our possession of the artifacts would lead to even more wild fantasies...if it had not already; The article was necessarily written with information at least a few days old.

And it infuriated and baffled me, all this talk of freedom. The Khajiit were living under a rule based on divine right, a leader selected by the pantheon of the local population: that was the closest thing to self-rule known to man! I did not chose K'Raska, their moons did! If they could not feel free under this system, what did anyone plan to put in place to make them feel unshackled? The Renrijra Krin clearly had a sick utopian vision, but did the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction and the freelance rebels, even think about this question?

The comparison between the Alessian Rebellion and this war was equally absurd. Our ancestors fought for the right to be ruled by their own gods, the guerrillas here were fighting for the exact opposite!

Was S'Nirem still here? I did not know what expression my face bore now, if it showed the anger, but I self consciously glanced to my left. S'Nirem was gone. Good. I wondered if this sort of garbage made him angry too, or if I was unique in letting such a bunch crazies get my goat. Did he think that through before handing this to me? I never really told the others about my temper.

What had I even been doing before this?

I decided to rest the paper on the table, next to the enchanted weapon that so empowered us: an ironic coupling.

_"All that violence the government is saying has been committed by our own country men: it's them! Using that fancy shape-shifter magic." _

Why did so many people feel the need to embitter themselves with such delusions?

_"...Cyrodiil's subjugation of the nation!"_

Did they enjoy hating?

_"He has been striking down local freedom fighters and even entering the palace gates of the corrupt Mane's royal courtyard!"_

Did it transfer their frustrations at things unrelated in some way that made them easier to accept?

But now, back in the world of the present, I did not know what else to do with myself. Admiring our inventory is what I had been doing, but that or any other whimsical course did not seem to have its appeal with anger's bitter taste in my mouth. I needed to do something more practical to let off steam. Maybe I would find S'Nirem, see what else he had learned out there.

Exiting the armory, I nearly bumped into him in the hallway. We both recoiled a little, but he quickly gave me a smile. I asked, "Anything else to report? See anything else interesting out there?"

"Not much," he replied. "Think I saw a watchman taking a bribe from a gangster next to that empty lot, but other than that not much of a morning."

Corruption in the law was nothing new, though always a bit disheartening, in this case turning a bit of my righteous anger into a bitter frustration. Still, it was good that was the worst he had seen. Maybe a new day was indeed shining on Elsweyr...although I could not feel happy about that right now with the obnoxious words of the cynical newsletter burning in my mind.

S'Nirem continued on his way.

If that was all he had, I was faced with how to fill this massive void of time ahead of me...again. Maybe I could ask the Argonians if they were up for a game of Five Down, that would give me something else to focus on. Or maybe I could go practice in the training room.

I jumped as I heard something rapping at the main entrance!

Someone must have been tapping it with a pretty heavy object on the other side. That was a worthy distraction, but an unsettling one as well. My mind rushed with the possibilities to fill the gaping mystery. Last time it had been a courier of the Mane, but this sounded like someone bigger, and it was not clear the guerillas were beneath finding this place...Could a cruel cosmic joke have been played? Would petty anger and desperation for diversion soon be replaced with a fear of having my organs eviscerated and the rush of combat?

I promptly headed back to the armory. If there was a threat there, it would be in for a nasty, nasty fight, coming right into the teeth of a rogue Imperial Legion unit. But a nasty fight cut both ways, and rightful fear of what was on the other side of the door started to seep in. I took a large scimitar. Turning back, I was formulating what to say to the others, but they had started to look into the hall, and Ah-Marz detached from the dining room doorway to head to the armoy himself. They knew what to do. I, mean while, got to stationing myself at the lever. I was our first line of defense. I planted myself. I shifted a little. Ever since Rizzani had died, I had always been the one with the most on my shoulders.

When Ah-Marz was behind me armed, that made two. Collects-Rocks walked into the armory as well to get something. A good thing was, no matter how many people were ready to invade our sanctuary, they would have to funnel through a small entry point. A crude way of gaining advantage against intruders, and probably not a conscious factor in the construction, but damned effective.**  
**

When he returned, with I knew not what, I turned around to see S'Bassa observing us curiously. I commanded, "Get the ones in the training room." He headed promptly to do just that, as I looked back at the grim stone door.

I heard another of my comrades walk out from the armory and the sound of his footsteps afterwards indicated he positioned himself behind us. That had been Reesaka, no doubt.

With the remainder emerging from the training room, they took position.

It was time. I was not as fearful as the first time something like this had happened, but still combat-ready, imagining flying metal, blood, and fur: the things I had come here for.

I wrapped my hands around the fate-sealing wood and, with courage, pulled, breaking the stagnancy. The heavy rock descended.

This time the tops of two heads were very quickly visible, and I tensed, knowing this would be a serious threat if they were hostile, becoming conscious of every inch of vulnerable flesh. They were Senche-Rahts, one with a war-axe and the other with a sword. But the way they were arranged made me suspect they were guarding someone. That let my tension escape. Again it seemed our visitor was friendly, and my preparations seemed comical now. I could rejoice in this.

Then their priority ceased to be obscured: a dark-furred Tojay, clad in the Confederate officer's garb like I had seen on Do'Dara. His face bore a pleasant expression, and a golden amulet drooped from his neck. On his hands were gold and silver bracelets, and on his hip a sword rested in a decoratively carved hilt. I almost felt like laughing now.

Seeming like a cultured sort, he gave a small bow.

"General Ra'Karri, Elsweyri Confederate Military. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." General Ra'Karri...the man in charge of the north. Another celebrity guest in our dank, unassuming hole in the ground! A much different character than Do'Dara, and he spoke in excellent Cyrodilic.

This was the second time a harmless guest had sent us into a soldier's alert. "An honor to meet you, sir." I said, and meant it. "Sorry for the informal welcome." Though since we could never see who was at the door, that might be routine we would be getting into. It was certainly an odd and unpleasant way to be greeted for both parties. We needed to find a new system...but what else could we do?

"The honor is mine, Densius Fidelis. We believe it is your efforts that are largely reason for the recent down turn in violence." There really had been a decrease in violence! "May I come in?"

"Absolutely." I said with a warmth generated by relief. "The dining hall is to your left...er, right, I mean it's to _your_ right, if you would like to sit down." It was a bit embarassing to make my first error in front of the man so quickly but...

"I would, thank you, my lad." It was a bit odd to hear Nibenean slang in an Elsweyri accent, but...why not? He stepped past the boundary between ruin and Cyrodilic construction, as we all headed for the dining chamber. The company of an ally felt wonderful after the scare. How many grand men I had met! And now he was heading to the humble chamber where I had taken my breakfasts. I felt slight ashamed at not being able to buy fancy table clothes and porcelin plates in advance.**  
**

We all poured into the room, my back so close to Elsweyr's most important General. Collects-Rocks pulled a seat out for Ra'Karri, and I took the one oppposite of him. Out of respect, every one else staid up.

We looked at each other, Elsweyri to Cyrodiil. His hands folded politely on the table, his class was actually making me a bit self-conscious. The General began:

"My men have been able to breath easier these last few days. We know you assisted the citywatch in the Cartha Gardens district, and we are aware you wiped out several more Renrijra Krin safe houses within only twenty-four hours of that deed. All of that fits within the allowances granted to you by my master K'Raska, may he live long, and I do not seek to reprimand you for taking initiative, or to seek possession of this marvelous device you have somehow acquired." _Good._ "Infact, we would like to harness your talents once again."

Now they were calling on me, not just accepting me! This was intriguing!

"The recent trend of peace in northern Torval, since you so devastated the Renrijra Krin terrorists, has given rise to the question of whether it might be time for the Confederate military to retake the other half of our great city." Wow! What a result that one busy day had carried! But...

"This soon...are you sure the peace will hold in the north?" For once, for once, I was on the more cautious side of the 'cautiously optimistic.'

"Nothing is certain in war, good sir. But we also anticipate the retaking of southern Torval will be easier than originally expected, thanks to the new tool at your disposal." And all this hinged on a single magical piece of wood.**  
**

"Really?" It was just one weapon...

"Somewhat. The Mane and I conducted a long discussion last night. There is still planning to be done with regards to the assault, especially your role in it. That's what I came here to discuss." I was a highly significant player now in an army I had never even intended to join! Whether by luck or by the compounding nature of advantage, I had not been silly to assume I could bring sweeping graces to Elsweyr!**  
**

He then removed, from his back pouch, a roll of pristine parchment. He unrolled it upon the table. It was Torval, the north end facing my side of the table.

"There are many official entrances to the southern districts from the area under my domain. As well, there are secret routes. We do not want you to use any of these, and General Do'Dara is no doubt already aware of them. We know, at least partially, of the extent of your exotic abilities, and wish for you to take advantage of those to gain access to his faux nation." That sounded thrilling!

He put a furry finger on the south-west corner. "We believe the rogue is...how do you say it...headquartered _here_, in the Thief's Terrace district, and we believe he occupies a...piece of property known as Hattada-Nu, a military installation serving as both a fort and an extensive outdoor training ground. Though we will have men assaulting this district from the rooks and main gates, we would like you to take a less expected path. We believe your secret powers endow you with enhanced jumping capabilities, is that correct?" He looked at me, the question being earnest.

"Yes." I said. He moved his finger.

"At the location which I am pointing to, there is a small Y'ffrite chapel, just against the wall between the Sugar Groves and Thief's Terrace districts." The term 'Y'ffrite' sounded familiar, and not as something native to Elsweyr. "It stands two stories tall at its edges. Adjacent to it is a small citywatch barracks, a single floor." Building it next to a citywatch barracks, a smart move if the faith was as foreign as it sounded. The General looked over at me. "Have you seen the height of Torval's city walls? From a point on the roof of the chapel, do you believe it would be possible to jump to climb over them?"

I imagined the building, and myself standing on its edge, jumping with keenen legs and grabbing a spot between two turrets. It seemed doable.

"I'm pretty sure I could pull that off."

"Excellent!" he thundered enthusiastically. I was going to play a key role another nation's battle. Or rather, my comrades and I were. "And landing from such a height will not be a problem?"

"Probably not, if I have a roof to land on." The strategy session was moving along smoothly._  
_

"You should." I would be making big jumps and landing from high places, just like in Black Marsh, when I had first experienced the powers of the Hist sap, and when my current brothers had rescued me. "Now, once you are in the Thief's Terrace region, you will only need proceed south from your point of entry. You will eventually spot Hattada-Nu, it will be impossible to miss and impossible to mistake for anything else. There are no windows upon its first floor, but you should see a few on its second. Again you will take advantage of your...exotic endowments to access them. Do'Dara will likely be located somewhere on this level. As we pour into his unrightful territory, we would like you lop off the head of the snake. We would like you to kill Do'Dara."

The first harsh word out of the gentleman's mouth. The Mane was relying on me personally, a Cyrodiil, to kill his current greatest enemy.

"You're sure he'll be there?"

"No, we are not, but this was his original headquarters. If he no longer stations himself there, it no doubt performs some other important function." His Cyrodilic was still impressing me.

My mind had selected the country estate where my uncle Gemellus lived to represent Hattada-Nu, but I had no idea what the structure would really look like. If it was wooden, hackwing claws might be useful for scaling it.

So I asked. "What's the main structure like? What's it made out of?"**  
**

"Stone. It's shape is difficult to...how do you say in your language...articulate, but that should be of little consequence."

Then he pulled himself back a little and, wrapping things up, said, "All this seems doable to you, then?"

"Yeah." I replied. Though it now struck me a bit odd that I had significantly discussed the powers endowed the Argonian-cum-Imperial super-soldier creation, what had been a Cyrodilic state secret, with a high ranking foreigner, in addition to involving myself in the plans of his army. But why was this only coming to me now?

"Very well, we still have other facets of the assault to work out. When our plans are finished, you will hear from us again. A courier will be sent. Unless you would like to return to the center of the city and join us in making these plans." Now he was inviting me to talk with the ruling class, to sit at a giant table of decorated men drinking from golden goblets, discussing a battle with foreigners for another province's capital.

For once I was getting an uncomfortable inkling I had turned my back on the Cyrodilic people, and felt less like a patriotic renegade carrying on their fight. But I _was_ carrying on our fight, the fight of those who were Cyrodilic in heart and mind at least; even if most of my allies spoke Ta'agran now, it was still the same cause the Empire had dedicated itself to...

But I was getting lost, the question at hand was whether I should join the high-ups to plan for the battle...

What expertise did I have? I may have been a hero. I had done some impressive things, but what did I know about invading a city?

"Thanks, but I think I'll stay here." I said. Though I felt a bit of me sink as I realized I had resigned myself to this bland, brick abode rather than the grand chambers of the Mane's palace. Still, this was no occasion for tourism.

"Very well." General Ra'Karri said, pushing his chair out. "I bid you farewell, Mr. Fidelis." And he got up, swift to conclude business.

"And you too, General." He had made a fine ambassador for his people. If all Khajiit were like him, Elsweyr would be in a golden age.

He rolled up the map, returned it to his back pouch, and then briskly got to exiting, the others walking with him.

I remained seated. I was not sure if the proper decorum in this situation was to walk him back to the door, but now I felt like I would look a fool doing it this late. The others would handle the escorting, while I wallowed in thought. There was a lot to wade through in my mind now.

Discharging the staff four times had changed so much. Now, after a visit from a man whose name I knew long before his face, I was looking at _Do'Dara's_ overthrow, the dictator who had become a byword for evil in Torval, whom had once seemed like an iron golem I could only avoid. Now, the forces of good were about to kick down his door and impale him through the gut.

Tools really made the man, it seemed. I was nothing special as a fighter, just a Skingrad boy with some Hist sap contraptions and a mage's piece of wood, and yet I was as key a player in this war as any General. The city of Torval was already breathing easier thanks to a few shots from the staff, which was far from expended.

Those living under the fearsome tyranny in the south likely had not felt the change, but what a rush it would be for them to see the veil of oppression lifted!

And how long before the capital was considered fully pacified? How long until the Confederate troops could start assisting the other cities? I knew ultra-nationalistic violence was alive and well all over, but how long until Elsweyr might see real progress?

I heard the stone door closing with its mighty song.

That encounter had certainly wiped out the boredom of the day. And it hit me I had actually forgotten about the Fourth Era Pundit. It had been washed away by a mighty wave. Maybe soon, _they_ would not have a war to pick apart either. But that was jumping ahead. For now, I had to keep my mind on the next battle, of knocking off the most opportunistic usurper and iron-fisted ruler alive in my life time. The Confederates would do most of the work, but I would get to put down the unrightful, blood-soaked king.

Great things, glorious things, redemptive and hope-bringing, might be cascading into my lap in the near future, long overdue!


	45. The Renegade General

"One of the oddest, and perhaps most well known characteristics of Elsweyr's culture is the romantization of thieves and thievery. However, how early this queer aspect of Khajiiti culture has been present serves as a mystery. There is no reference to thievery being enshrined in Elsweyr's earliest creation myths. While it is a commonly held misconception among many foreigners and even some scholars that Elsweyr recognizes a 'thief god' in a Khajiit known as Rajhin, such an assertion is essentially false. Such a burglar did exist, and attained legendary status in Khajiiti folklore and his ghost is rumored to be prayed to by superstitious thieves, but he is not reverred as a deity." - _Elsweyr, "Thievery"_

Mid Year 29, 4E2

Sugar Groves District, Torval

* * *

From the rook, far to our left, came the sounds of clashing steel and cries of injury. From the gates came the barking of commands and clunking of a battering ram and the buzzing of arrows and their impact on the stone and dirt.

It was invigorating to be part of a battle to overthrow the man I had sullenly thought we could only hold our nose to. We would even have the honor of slaying him ourselves.

I lept to the chapel roof. I had concluded ogre arms, with the additional weight they would give, were a bad idea, so the only augmentations we had were keenen legs.

At the edge of the chapel, next came the wall. It was General Do'Dara's wall, although his men were thoroughly occupied with the nearest rook and portal.

I jumped, going to super-human heights. My hands grasped the cold stone of the fortification, the irrelevant defensive construct. I pulled myself up, and as I rolled onto the cobbled flooring, the flesh of my sides felt extra sensitive. I looked to my right, and saw all Do'Dara's men were all attending to the batterers. To my left, only chaos pushing north and south was visible. Perfect. The plan was running slick as oil.

I walked over the other edge and looked down. Below was the "Theif's Terrace" district's wealthiest quarter.

When General Ra'Karri had come to my sanctuary, I had said I would need rooves to land from here. But afterwards I had pondered whether that was the best course of action. From this height, I might fall through the shackles. To fall directly onto the dirt might risk a broken leg, but I had ultimately decided to take that risk. I was so honored to be part of the battle, I felt only a slight tension at the thought, and bore it with a sheepish grin.

With a bit of courage and tightening of the gut, I vaulted myself over the edge.

Wind rushes as the ground came towards me, fast. Most men did not get to see a sight like this unless they were submitted to death. I was one of a privileged few. I could see the individual specks of dirt, ready to meet my scaley, beastial feet.

And hit the ground I did, collapsing into a hard fall on the butt.

Yet my legs were in tact, and despite my pained pelvis I pushed myself up with a sense of gratitude. And I moved out of the way of the next, probably Jilheen, closer to the house which might wonder what all the noise was about.

I looked up to see the expected body bounding over the edge of the ineffective brick structure. I wondered if he felt the same sense of novelty I did. He hit the dirt, his bottom meeting a similar fate. He wore the pain well, though, and got to his feet and pressed himself against the wall with me. Then came Ah-Marz, feeling the same rush of wind, landing with a larger puff of dust, but coming by our sides as well. And next came Collects-Rocks, now just another stone down the hatch. After recieving the obligatory rump-hurt, he got to his feet and took position with us.

And Reesaka vaulted. I thought I heard some distant yelling in a foreign language, multi-worded and urgent. Was it addressing us? Our archer hit the alley and joined us. The interpreter, fit for the first time with new legs, was next in line. And he arrived right on schedule, another sore ass for our possy.

While the pain in my bottom was just starting to fade, the Khajiit rasped, "We're compromised. That man was calling out our movements." Our fortune had gotten us up and over fine, but not down.

"Then we need to get moving," I said. Behind enemy lines, one could not have expected things to have staid easy for long. We could take the alleyway, or the roads. Alleys would better conceal and cover our approach. Streets would make the staff more efficient, a lot safer, and our archer more useful. "We'll take the roads," I said, and led everyone rightward. I expected they would be free of hostiles for a least a little while, with Do'Dara's renegades occupied by the rooks and gates.

Unlike most of Elsweyr, this sector looked fully intact (and empty, but the battle had driven everyone indoors or to the hotspots): there was not a broken window in sight. Maybe it had something to do with this being the rich district.

I started to wonder how much resistance the yeller had directed our way, when around the distant turn came the beginning of the answer. Six men, Confederate uniforms. Armed with four sabers, two spears, and a battle axe (held by the Senche of the group), they were charging fearlessly towards us. Normally such a squad would frighten me, but the staff put me on a higher pedestal, from which I could smugly smile. They seemed eager to be martyred, but probably did not know the piece of wood I was holding made them little more than meat to fry. Yes, they would die for nothing, other than a little bit of ammunition expenditure. But I would let them get a bit closer.

They looked confident, oblivious to the fact they had already become irrelevant (did they even wonder what magic this staff held?). Two city watch men seemed to have wondered around the corner too, my next interloopers to deal with (they would probably be spared the staff).

The Confederate traitors were close. I fired right for the hulking Senche.

That deceptively little ball of fire came out. The combatants halted and a couple coiled their legs for a dodge, but it was too late, the splendorous magic exploding upon the Senche's torso.

Their skeletons limply fell as a pathetic end to their proud charge.

The watchmen who witnessed unprofessionally panicked and ran out sight, screaming with the dignity of a drug-addled Dagi. Serving a man so eager to kill, they were no so eager to die, I thought with scorn.

And we continued forward, we had accomplished an infiltration that would have made the Dark Brotherhood jealous and boasted the raw power of a Dremora troop, an unprecedented combination. I did want to use this staff somewhat conservatively, however, so if we outnumbered the enemy and there were no big breeds among them, we would fight them by sword.

There was another corner to turn soon.

Around it, I heard some frantic chatter, voices smoother than those of Khajiit, and belonging to both genders (clearly not the watchmen we just witnessed). Then there was a momentary quiet, followed by a loud clap or bang and some shrill protests from out of view souls. I did not know what that meant, what had happened, but we would soon see. On the urban battlefield, it could be anything.

There was a broken down wagon in the next street (unlikely the audio's culprit), and as we passed the corner, I looked to the side.

Only to see a bolt of electricity racing towards me from a window! I transformed my run to a leap and dived behind the wreckage. The world was a blurr for a second, and then I landed with half my body exposed and scrambled back with my hands to get fully behind cover, flustered and shaken by the close call. An arrow bounced off the road my front half had just occupied.

I was in crude protection. It seemed I was pinned down. Looking back, my squad mates were still behind the corner, spared this predicament.

Dashing out of here unscathed was probably doable, easy even, but there was a non-negligible chance of getting shocked or impaled...but blind-firing the staff over the top of this wooden mess would eliminate that chance.

But thinking back to the noise I had heard, had the bandits I was facing broken into a civilian dwelling for their cover? Were the civilians still inside? If so, they would be killed by the blast. I could not fire.

Yet risking myself to spare locals did not have the same moral dynamics it would have back when I was just another Legionarre. I was more important now, the Hist sap made me so. I was a key player in this struggle, not just set of Imperial boots on the ground. A couple of bystanders were a small matter in this equation.

But my own thoughts on the subject of killing civilians chilled me. I was beginning to feel a sort of acerbic ache in my gut at the thought.

Yet war required sacrifices, and if we could accept the death of heroes, surely we should accept the death of bystanders.

Still, sealing the deaths of innocents, by my own hands none the less, was not something I could take lightly. I could not just commit to it after a few seconds of thought, those people deserved more deliberation.

Yet the longer I delayed, the more likely the enemy would rally against our current position or in defense of Do'Dara's, and the more likely we would fail this operation. I could not wait. I would die with more guilt if I failed this operation out of squeamishness than if I took two civilians lives to defend its biggest player.

My internal argument had clearly ended in favor of firing. I had just had to swallow my reluctance. Committed to be a quick and steadfast chooser, I, self-numbed, slid the staff over the top, and jerked it appropriately. It cast. That was it, the decision made, out of the dominion of my will. The ethereal, sailing sound marked their fate. A strange sensations washed over me.

I felt a tiny sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, but also a dull sense of relief at the period of dilemma being over.

There was an orange flash of light, tinting the wreckage, with the airy burst.

That was at least two innocents dead, and at least two enemies. What should I feel now? I did not know. And I would not wait for it to flow into my curiously awaiting mind.

I gestured my comrades to proceed, and rose to the sight of smoldering ruins of a family's home and mechanically started running further southward. My skin crawled. The others, whatever they thought of my last action I could only imagine, followed behind.

The streets ahead were again clear, all the non-combatants having gone in doors, all warriors having yet to arrive.

I had taken innocent lives behind us; What should I feel? This had not been the first time civilians had been killed by war magic...but at some point that must have become wrong. Would it haunt me for hours, weeks, or years? Or not at all? Was my conscience really that adaptive?

For now I knew I best feel nothing. That would keep me alive. That was something I learned taking down _bad_ _guys_.

I just had to block the thoughts out.

As our feet patted the dirt road, we were right on course, a dependable group of foreigners. It was doubtful anything could stand up to us. Would Do'Dara die by the staff's fires, or our swords? Eitherway, we would serve the Mane well.

The next turn was not far. From what I recalled, our target building would soon be in sight.

As we turned, I was immediately struck with the sight four primed archers, their arrowheads staring callously upon us, ready to rip through our flesh!

I dived again, the world out of my control as I was set a path by a singular muscular contraction.

I hit the dirt as the barrage was released and four projectiles zipped through the air.

On my dirty side, I immediately fired a shot with the staff. But when it seemed on course to miss the Ohmes, I fired another at a different guerilla. This one was on route to impact, carrying orange light through its journey towards the oblivious traitor.

It exploded right as it caught the man's Confederate armor; it spectacularly emoliated all but one of the hostiles, nullifying our previous vulnerability in an instant. The remaining, a Tojay-Raht, was unceremously shot in throat by Reesaka and quickly fell to the ground with a gruesome gurgle.

I did not believe any of the arrows hit my men but I braced myself for anything as I propped myself up and turned.

Everyone was okay.

That was a breath-stealing close call, the second tonight. Thank the Nine, my body remained in fit condition, as did all theirs. Hopefully Torval would not throw anything worse at us.

Then I my eyes caught sight of something anomalous: I had burned half off another house by missing the first shot. But I consciously forced myself not to look for a skeleton and focused on what mattered, advancing, just like before, and upon rotating I saw a distinctive sight that was indeed possible to mistake: Hattada-Nu, the stone garrison in the city of wood, the clear, sparse dirt fields in a crowded metropolis.

That was the headquarters of the evil usurper, a symbol of his unjust power. I could make out that one of the training structures had been converted into gallows. Four Khajiit, of diverse shapes and sizes, dangled for the city to see, a savage's trophy.

We kept moving. But it seemed too easy for Do'Dara to be our very next kill.

Fittingly, I was beginning to make out two people at the front door, facing perpendicular to us, towards the main gate. The closer was not colored like a Confederate or citywatchman, however; He wore distinct unpainted armor everywhere but his head, and bore unkempt, shoulder-length, wavey blonde hair. A burly Nord, he held a glass axe and metal sheild. A mercenary: a vulture, milking the chaos for gold, an enjoyable kill.

They were currently oblivious to us. Over the sounds of war I was guessing we could continue the current rate and they would not hear our approach.

The gate entrance they faced had some novel decorations flanking it: two pikes staked with heads. All looked no more than a few days old. Do'Dara was one blood-thirsty bastard.

We were getting close, the foreigner and Confederate still unaware.

And we approached the fence. I vaulted over it.

Yet, whether by noise or coincidence the Nord turned his head. We were spotted. He cried out and began charging with the catman. Our next obstacle to conquer, though these two seemed quite manageable.

I would spare them the staff. We would not coddle ourselves from dispatching two men.

Reesaka's arrow whizzed inconsequentially past the Nord's head.

I switched the relic to my left hand and brought my sword to bear, ready to take them down the classic way. It seemed I would be attending to the Confederate, with whomever was on my right (I glanced over, seeing it was Jilheen). We had the greater challenge, given the additional armor the soldier bore, but definitely not the greatest I had faced.

The Elsweyri soldier was getting close, sheild his flanking from the Nibenean while coming towards me for his attack.

And the instant he got in range, he parried my sword aside, and I, startled and frightened, jumped back instinctively, shocking myself again as I lunged good eight feet, forgetting I had the keenen legs.

The landing put a great distance between us once more.

With that, the catman reassessed the tactical threats and turned towards the Argonian, whom he began engaging. The Leyawiinite was a better blocker than I, and managed to keep himself secured despite another parry attempt. And again. All the while, they were rotating counter-clockwise. I realized it gave me an opportunity for an ambush.

As they rotated, neither one trying for a strike, scanning the scenario for an opportunity (unless Jilheen was actually clever enough that he had thought up this ambush before _me_), I closed in on the bandit with light foot falls.

The Khajiit's back now to me, I targeted little sliver of furry vulnerability between the end of his helmet and his shoulder. And I reeled back for a deft, carefully aimed swing.

And it buried itself an index finger's length into his burly neck. He stumbled sideways and onto the ground, putting my Argonian comrade back in full view.

We smiled at each other in recognition of gratitude and synergy. The soldier was writhing only feet away, but as a Legionnarre one learned to be callous in the heat of battle.

There was no more clashing steel on the other side, either. I turned to see the Nord's head had left his body, his fluids pouring rapidly onto the dirt.

The guards were dispatched. Now for the infiltration. I looked over at the stone building and saw two windows on its nearest north face, one unshuttered.

Resuming my role as a leader, I said "Let's go!" I jogged towards the wall, passing Jilheen-Bolineena. I sheathed my bloody sword on the way (as my kill let out his final groans behind me). Were there more men up there? If there were, I would see them quickly and let myself back down. They would be difficult to kill, but we would cross that bridge if and when we came to it.

Once I was half a yard from the bricks, I stopped. I bent my legs deeply and then, with conscious strength, shot myself up.

It was still exciting to be launched so high, and my hands clutched the wooden pane and I pulled myself up. It was a barracks, empty. Perfect.

I mantled. Not perfectly silent, but the stone floor made little noise to begin with. I brought my sword back to bare. Do'Dara's death was so close I could taste it.

The next pair of hands grasped the ledge as I surveyed the room. It had perhaps seven bunks, with one giant bed on the far side (likely for a Senche), and ended with a wall hung with colorful tapestries depicting battles, contrasting the plain, solemn bricks that composed the rest of the chamber.

The next pair of feet landed a bit less quietly. I turned to see it was Jilheen-Bolineena.

I felt a drop of sweat run down my nose. Perspiration had collected on my brow from all the running and the scares.

Then another pair of scaley hands clasped the window sill, as Jilheen and I both stepped further from the entrance.

It was Collects-Rocks.

Three of our men were up, certainly enough to deal with the Cathay-Raht General. Were those guards outside the last of his minions, however? That did not seem right.

Again came hands, a breathy grunt, and then feet against the tiles. Ah-Marz. We stepped further in, making more room by the window.

I got a strange feeling and turned towards the door. Suddenly it flew opened and a lith, vested Tojay pounced me like an animal! I fell hard against the floor. A hurricane of panic swept me. Its vile hands were grasping my wrists. It let go and reeled back for a strike against my soft throat with its claws, when a savoir from the periphery stabbed it in the throat, immedaitely stopping its actions. Its face bore only shock, and with his boot Jilheen-Bolineena pushed the bandit off his bloodied sword like meat off a kabob, it rolling to the floor. I quickly scrambled to my feet, looking at the newly opened doorway.

That threat was gone. Were there any others coming? But only the walls of the hall showed through the door.

I looked at Jilheen. We had both killed eachother's opponents tonight, but he just about saved my life. "Thanks," I said. He gave a husky nod. I still felt a little shaken.

And then another of ours entered through the window, having just missed the action. Reesaka. All we had to do was wait for S'Bassa, then we could proceed. And good thing. I did not like lingering in the middle of an enemy fort.

And then S'Bassa arrived, our final man, and I wasted not a heading out the doorway.

Only to be immediately confronted by a giant, furry mass with a claymore in its left hand and sheild made for its breed in the other. . I immediately started backpedaling, almost involuntarily. It was a Senche-Raht, taking up almost the entire corridor with its girth. Jilheen came out, and ended up doing the same. The others did the same, like water flowing through a riverbed, because they were too stupid to understand the warning they had just seen or brave and noble enough to stick by me despite it.

And now we were four swordsmen nearly huddle together, staring at the most intimidating Khajiit I had ever encountered (even if not by a large margin). Our archer and translator had decided to stay in the safety of the barracks.

There was no way around him. He was probably the last thing between us and Do'Dara, and a damn good choice. Both parties were stationary, both wisely leary of what they were looking upon.**  
**

It was his words that were the first thing to break the equilibrium. The Senche said, in his deep booming voice, "You come to take the life of our sovereign king, I will defend him to my death."

_Sovereignty__! _My anger surged! Was that the next moral word to become bastardized in this insane era? _Is just anyone sovereign if they muscle their way to the top? Need they obey no contract, social or divine?_ _Does anyone deserve to rule just because they had managed to grab the throne? _It was a completely arbitrary declaration this man was justifying his allegiance by!

My blood was boiling, but as I was distracted with intellectual anger the feline began thundering towards us. With its mighty shield it bashed Collects-Rocks into the wall, while swinging at Ah-Marz with its claymore. Ah-Marz ducked in a deft blurr as the weapon bounced off the bricks. I was in panic mode, the world but an avalanche falling upon me. It raised its arm to strike downwards at the young lizardman, nothing between the Argonian and his doom, when something abrupt happened which it took me a second to comprehend: some new colors were around the monster's neck and it was wobbling and struggling against them.

Reesaka! He'd ambushed the Senche-Raht, latched onto its throat, and now it was trying to shake him off.

Ah-Marz deftly took advantage of the opening with a well timed jab, reddening his blade. The massive beast seemed only angered, still more focused on the heroic archer, as it back pedalled into the wall.

This was time for my contribution. I deftly processed magicka and sent it through my hand towards the behemoth. Reesaka hit the wall as the icey projection left my finger tips.

The glow illuminated the hall on its flight until it hit the beast, but it earned little more than a growl. He reeled back and smacked Reesaka hard against the stone. That was going to keep happening. I could not have our eldest soldier battered to death for his nobility! "Charge!" I commanded, ready to pay our debt, and we all started pouring forward. Except for Collects-Rocks, who remained dazed.

Reesaka haphazardly moved to cover the beast's eyes, a very kindly move. And he succeeded; the Senche started flailing wildly, blindly trying to defend itself. Ah-Marz evaded another one its strikes before chopping his blade into its side, this time earning a more poignant cry before leaping back in anticipation of a strike towards his position.

When I was in range I struck its sword arm, cleaving deep into the Senche's limb, and made an inspired leap back, only to realize the strike had made its arm dead. Collects-Rocks quickly took advantage for another hit.

Now the poor Khajiit was bleeding from three places, weakness was starting to show as the beast began to lose its balance. Reesaka unlatched himself, knowing the wounds would soon snatch its consciousness. The frightening hulk had been reduced to a wobbling, staggering, pitiable display and it soon fell face flat onto the uncaring stone tiles.

Hopefully that was our final adversary. There had been some sobering close calls.

I surveyed my men. Collects-Rocks had gotten back on his feet (though had an expression like he had eaten something foul), and Reesaka stood with a hand on his back, slightly hunched. He gave a feeble smile (intended to reassure, though I still had some reservations about the potential state of his internal organs), and said, "Let me get my bow back." He hobbled towards the barracks door, as my attention shifted to Rocks.

"You okay, Rocks?"

He blinked hard and after inhaling a little said, "Yeah, my ears are just ringing a bit."

I had never heard an Argonian mention his 'ears,' I now realized. Did what they have count?

Reesaka came back out the barracks, stride still awkward but hand off his back, bow back in its proper place.

Regrouping would be nice, but every second it got more likely reinforcements would arrive. With some fatherly sympathy for the pains of my crew peppered on a sense of necessity and duty, I said, "Let's go claim Do'Dara's head!"

I made my way to the front of the crowd, back in the leader position. The squad was ready even if feeling a bit ramshackle at the moment. I stepped over the massive arms and sheild of the Senche-Raht. What I could see around the corner, Do'Dara's location felt intuitive; Near the stairwell stood a rather elegant looking door, the only one in this stretch of the hall.

Bloody sword out infront of me, I began advancing.

And then I heard something, first subtle, then the undeniable clap of feet against the stairs. But it was a lone pair, no bigger than a Tojay-Raht's. One last reminant in this building, arriving late to the game. One more obstacle. But would he even try to fight us?

And the metal footsteps were loud and close. And it came into view with confidence, spikey mace raised, dawned in unremarkable iron armor sans a helmet. But not a Khajiit. Another mercenary, an Imperial.

And he stopped cold in the sight of us.

He was probably about my age too, dark cropped hair, tanned skin, light blue eyes rare for our race.

His expressing contorted with fear and he began sputtering. "Oh...hey, I...uh...you guys win! The cat's all yours!" And then as if he had been counting down the seconds to articulate that, he turned and ran back down the stairs.

The thought of pursuing him and putting him down for working with the savage renegade crossed my mind, but then we would lose precious time _zeroing in_ _on_ that same savage renegade. So we simply continued forward, the mettleless soldier of fortune being inconsequential. Maybe when he matured his conscience would catch up with him.

When I was near the door I signaled the others to stop, and turned back to them.

"Rocks, take some readings on the next room." In other words, he was to employ his mysticism. He got a little closer and then turned to the wall, staring with the deceptively blank expression. I watched the stairwell, ready for any twitch in the shadows or clunk of feet. It would not surprise me to see more resistance, where ever it was to come from, considering where we were.

"Nothing sir," he finally stated. That was surprising. I was so sure Do'Dara was through that door...maybe there was more behind it than just an office, maybe it was a whole other network of rooms, and the General was simply in one of those, out of range of Rocks' detection. Eitherway, if there really was no one in there, it could not hurt to enter. Beyond temporally.

I approached the entrance. If it really was one door to many more it should not be locked. I grabbed the handle and tugged, and it opened to a rather ostentatious sight. It was a well lit dining room, with paintings, decorative candles, a vibrant clothe on the table, and a half finished piece of meat, seasoned and lying in a pool of juice. The chamber glittered with finery, even though its walls were still glum, gray brick as the rest of the fort. Another door, the only other door, was directly ahead. Yes, this was our promised portal, and this one would surely be locked.

Making my way around the table while surveying the crystal glasses in the cupboards and the elaborately carved candle-holders, I had to appreciate the luxury top-ranking military personnel were treated to in Elsweyr. There was nothing like this for the Imperial Legion's top brass. Or maybe these were riches the dictator stole from the populace.

And soon we were all gathered around the second door. Readings first, to be prepared?

"Rocks," I said under my breath, "Tell us."

And again, he proceeded to go into a trance, as I turned to watch closely for the approach of any unwelcome guests. That mercenary had no reason not to simply alert the others, unless he was really so void of belief in his cause...and did not worry about the potential monetary penalty of inaction. But could there even be a penalty if -

"There's one guy in there," the Argonian said.

Do'Dara. I felt satisfaction, with a pinch of thrill. The traitor General, the mighty usurper king, ready to be taken down by a Cyrodiil who had not long ago been nothing more than a pair of Legion boots with a battlemage's hood.

"Does he look armed?" I asked. He would have to die eitherway, but it would be more glorious to take him down in battle.

"Yeah," the young Colovian responded.

Perfect, everything was perfect. I was almost smiling, smugly content.

"Pick it opened," I said.

Collects-Rocks approached, giving the door an experimental tug with predictable results (I had not even considered it being unlocked). If the rogue had not heard our approach, he would know we were here for him now. He must have been wet and salty with terror. Was he trying to make peace with his gods right now? Or maybe he was mad enough to think he would really die in their favor.

Collects-Rocks inserted his pick and got to work. The noise was probably torture to the poor General, demons clawing his door, but after seeing his display outside such invited little sympathy.

Click.

I turned towards the entrance. Collects-Rocks parted from it. The prize was ours, the evening's welcome dessert. All we had to do was kick it opened.

That duty seemed the most fitting for me. I approached the door. I stood in front of it, staring at it squarely, it seemed to glow with connotation.

Time to confront the man. He was giant, an eight-foot tall Cathay-Raht, but no match for five trained men. I curled up my scaley leg and then shot it forward like a piston (only remembering half way through the motion my legs were extra strong now). It flew opened and smacked very loudly against a desk. And there was General Do'Dara. He had some kind of ceremonial sword in hand, golden, with engravings on it. He wore the same fancy, clothe officer's garb I had seen him in the first time we met, a mere potion transaction. I began charging.

I shot my hand forward to cast as he charged forwards in kind, intent to go down blazing fight. The frigid cloud impacted his clothing but did nothing to phase him, as if the moves had all been mechanically set before hand. He lifted his hand for a vicious diagonal strike and I brought my left hand to the handle to reinforce the block. I caught his weapon with my own, even despite his mighty strength and the pain where I held the handle, and kicked him in the gut.

The shock caused him to release the weapon, the sword tumbling out of his grasp as the wind was knocked out of him. He stumbled backwards as I transformed my previous position into a slash across his face, the last inch of the metal catching his flesh right before he was out of range.

He grabbed his previously exalted, untouchable facade as he blundered backwards, eventually crashing into the rear wall.

I charged.

As he lifted his hand to show his now defiled, bloody visage, I was close.

I impaled him through the gut. He did not even make a noise, just looked at me with a sort of wide-mouth daze. I withdrew the red blade.

That must have set at least a couple of organs aleak and sealed the mighty man's doom.

And he moved to clutch that wound, the once self-annointed king, mighty dictator, now bloodied, disfigured, and hugging his latest injury, was trying to delay death for a few more seconds. A mere twenty-three year old foreigner, who had been but a Skingrad commoner until very recently, had reduced him utterly, so much that he hardly even paid me mind as I was, armed, four feet before him. A day earlier he would have killed dissidents. Now he could not even kill the Imperial infront of him.

He stood their pathetic, defeated, hunched over, in his own world. I felt a tinge of pity. But sympathy or not, this demanded a swift end.

I stabbed him through the side of the throat.

And that seemed to be the last certification he needed to pass on to the void, as he quickly crumpled onto the floor, blood pouring onto the hardwood floor. Final rest, at long last. After being tolerated by a Mane for so long, after claiming so much for himself, his death came with an unimpressive fight.

I had seen his work outside, he was not a person to be mourned. But I wondered, was he an honorable soldier of Elsweyr before being corrupted by this...chaos?

There was a new poignant emptiness in the room now...except...

I heard an odd crackling sound behind us, and turned to see the desk the door had hit half aflame: A candle holder had tipped over, and the papers were burning. That could be valuable intelligence!

In a bit of a panic, I shot my remaining magicka at the flames, but the projected hypothermal cloud flew over them, only catching their teasing crowns.

I would have to wait for my pores to absorb more magicka to do that again, so I rushed over to save the untouched documents the old fashion way, gathering all the parchment that was uncharred.

Then I stepped back and watched the hot gasses continue their angry work. The memories in his brain had left, and now the memories he had made with ink were to dissolve. The inferno seemed almost like a divine commemoration of Do'Dara's passing.

The sounds of battle could be heard through the rogue General's lone, shuttered window. People were still dying for him even now that he was gone. My allies did not know what I had done here either. Likely their enemies would realize first, and the good guys would not find the body until all the blood on this battlefield was soaked into the dirt.

And then I could hear a door downstairs burst opened, and a cacophony of angry, riled voices. Do'Dara's subordinates: they had come back for us. Our mission was accomplished. It was time to leave this place.


	46. Gratitude

A/N: This chapter has undergone minor revisions since its initial release.

* * *

"While few places in Elsweyr would be considered by and large well off by Imperial standards, the largest concentration of wealth in Elsweyr lies in the city of Torval. The center of the metropolis is dedicated to the luxury of the Mane and his tribe, as well as the king of Torval, but even in the periphery, there is some splendor to be found. Royal parties have been hosted by Emperors in the city, and artists from all Tamriel have contributed to its famous galleries. Many merchants in the city make a large sums of money in the city's market, selling and buying wares from adventurers, travelers, fishermen and hunters that frequently pass through the central rainforests. Still, heavy taxation, crime, and corruption takes its toll, and fortunes are often lost quicker than they are won. Ragged, skooma addicted beggars can often be found not far from robust and decorated dwellings." - _Elsweyr, "Economy"_

Mid Year 30th, 4E2

Thief's Terrace District, Wealthy Quarter

* * *

This was a really beautiful district: that became more apparent when we were not here to kill someone. Civilians of every breed, color, age, and status were walking about gaily with confidence I had not seen before in Torval this evening. I had even seen a local smile and wave to me. Tropical pigeons walked their funny strut through the pedestrian traffic. It was a good day in Torval, for once.

The Mane's moxy and the staff's power had brought this change. The Commerece and Sugar Groves districts had looked good as well, even though I had brought along Jilheen for protection. I could see the forces of righteousness tightening their embrace around the city. Torval might soon become the epicenter of order for this province.

I was delivering the intelligence we had gathered at Do'Dara's office to the authourities, deciding it would be best to give it to those handling the building where the papers came from. S'Nirem had already made Cyrodilic copies of all the documents. The Elsweyris would get what we actually recovered in the dead renegade's office.

Ahead there were two spear-weilding soldiers riding a Senche. Above them, I saw a woman on her balcony raining down something in their path: pink flower pedals. I had not seen love in Elsweyr since my early days in Dune, before the insurgency came.

A Confederate soldier was chatting with a civilian cheerily nearby, not far from that scene, something I had not seen here...ever. A couple of small children were playing tag. They had seen the darkness of despotism shattered right before their eyes, no doubt that was rejuvenating. Most of their experiences of living under the tyrant were still unknown to the rest of the world. No doubt they would have many stories to tell.

"Excuse me! Sir!" A female voice came a little way behind me. I turned.

Their was Ohmes-Raht woman standing outside a relatively modest house, a wide-eyed toddler holding on the fabric of her dress. She was looking at me with a warm smile and something glimmering in her hand.

"You are the man...killed Do'Dara," she said in her belabored Cyrodilic. Then she held out her hand, where a gold necklace was aslumber. "I want you have this, as token of gratitude."

I was a bit flabergasted. I had gotten verbal thanks, waves, and thumbs-up from locals before, but never an expensive gift like this.

"I..." I was not sure what to say.

She jerked her hand forward. "Take."

My mind was buzzing but the thoughts could not take form. Eventually, somewhat reluctantly, I simply grabbed the jewelry and slowly brought it back to my person, still a little stunned, not sure what expression to bare.

I looked her straight in those orange, feline eyes, which gleamed above a grinning face. I said, loud and clear, "Thank you." Her teeth looked slightly yellow (worse was common in Elsweyr), and by no means perfectly straight, but still a good set.

"No, thank _you_," she replied, clear as a bell, and made her way back inside...before I could change my mind, closing the door and resuming whatever activity she had been previously engaged in within the obscurity of her own home.

I looked down at the necklace and caressed it a bit with my thumb. This is what I had been waiting for for years. A cultural bridge, a thank you, a unification of two peoples often hostile to one another. I grasped it tighter and pocketed it affectionately.

"Nice!" Jilheen said jovially from behind, grin in his voice. That was indeed one way to put it. Maybe Mr. "Furlickers" would start to reconsider his views on the Khajiiti race now. A warmth started to grow in me.

I turned to keep walking, and broke into a smile. A great feeling was swelling in my chest. For all the scorn I had thought about the locals myself, they had finally given me what I wanted, and I was humbled. There was a slight guilt in me, but also a towering glee.

A corner was coming soon; The last corner before our destination, I realized.

And we turned it, and I saw the stone building, previously the evil Do'Dara's headquarters. It looked majestic and noble now. It was still a good distance away, but I could already identify the officer who was in charge of its occupation, standing outside the building, fanning himself.

As I proceeded, my mind buzzed with a glow of mirth. This is what I had so longed to see again in Elsweyr since the Oblivion Crisis. And from here, a _new_ future for the province could bloom, once the Confederate military brought this beautiful peace to the other cities. And that should be an easy matter if the Mane had subdued his home town. This city was the first to taste a of honeyed wine in a land not long ago thought to be relegated to piss-flavored rum.

Maybe I would get another chat with the Mane or Ra'Karri soon, when a campaign to cleanse another city began, getting another special role. This was all happening so much faster than I had expected, and I had half expected it to not happen at all! What would the Imperial government think if we succeeded where they had failed, and made Elsweyr a sign of hope for the new, tumultuous Era? Would they feel envy? Would they rebrand me a hero? And those who thought Ocato a liar, that I was his man, would they forgive him?

Eitherway, thank goodness for the discovery in the Helstrom Palace: the super-soldier machinations which we had co-opted, and thank goodness we had made it to M'Dazzir's staff before the Renrijra Krin. The thought of that kind of power in their filthy hands...

We were close to the front gate. I could see some of the blood we had spilled the night of Do'Dara's death still staining the dirt ahead, but war was long gone from this place.

I pushed opened the entrance with a bit of a creak and homed in on the officer. He seemed to realize I was coming for him, perking up as I approached. He swatted at a bug I could not see without moving his pupils. And then, as I got close, I extended my paper-holding hand and stopped in front of him.

First question, "Do you speak Cyrodilic?" Each word was loud and clear.

"Atz iit?"

That answered that. _S'Bassa time._ I turned to my interpreter and said, "S'Bassa, tell him I was...tell him why we're here."

And the responsibility for this conversation shifted to the Khajiit. He began jawing in his people's tongue, and I watched the officer's attentive face as a hundred words I did not know passed through the air.

I reflected pleasantly on all the sights I had passed behind us as the officer was briefed. The waving Tojay, the gift bearing mother...

Finally, the eyes of the Tojay-Raht came back to me, and he eagerly extended his hand. I extended mine and gave him the papers. He smiled and gave a congrulatory nod. I returned one. The petty chore was done, and we would begin heading back to our little home in the ground.

With things looking so good, we might not be fighting crime again until we were in a whole other city. Until then, we might well be on vacation.

We were getting close to the exit, the rear end of a Senche-Raht being ridden in view. He was mounted by two other soldiers, meandering through the sunlit streets.

And then avest-clad, tall, lith anamoly appeared dashing out of one of the alleys, charging towards the riders and their steed. I knew instantly this countered everything I had assumed, a wrench in the works of peace. The figure, now in their proximity, cut the beast in the leg with the gleaming blurr, causing it to cave on its weight and cry out in pain as the other two tumbled off, to the front of the apparition's sword. Yes, this was as bad as it looked, the mirth and cheer so quickly sucked away. The villain stabbed his sword into the throat of one soldier and shot lightening from his hand at the other. And as if all part of the same choreograph dance, he finished off his first target, sticking his sword in its side before vaulting over it and running into the towards the alley across, to disappear as quickly as he materialized. And he was successful.

I, meanwhile, had done nothing. Could I have done anything?

There was a cacophany of panic and confusion among the civilian, and the officer behind us began furiously charging towards the scene, creating wind as he passed me. But what could he do? The officer was likely just trying to project a semblance of strength and order onto the scene that had so spooked this block of the city. The Senche-Raht was crying for help as it bled onto the dirt road.

The previous ambiance of this district had been utterly annihilated by a quick, cold, skilled, nameless Cathay. The streets were filled with shouts and questions. A toddler was crying beside its mother.

The merriness was all gone. My optimism had been snatched away as quickly as the lives of the soldiers. Was this an omen of return, return to the chaos that had become almost intrinsic in Elsweyri life these past two years? Had I been niave, along with the locals? Had reality finally caught up with us, cruelly stealing away our childish little fantasy?


	47. Sliding

"We are the Renrijra Krin. 'The Mercenary's Grin' 'The Laugh of the Landless,' and 'The Smiling Scum' would all be fair translations. It is a derogatory expression, but it is amusing so we have adopted it." - Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

Sun's Height 4, 4E2

Theif's Terrace District, Wealthy Sector

* * *

The violence was now verified, and the vague accounts clearly had not exaggerated. The jagged edges of broken glass and spikes of splintered wood all spoke of hard hitting mayhem. Mehrunes Dagon would not let us forget that this was his playground. We _had_ forgotten for a day or two after Do'Dara was overthrown, and he was making us pay. First it was the violence I witnessed by Hattada-Nu, then the soldiers sniped in the Ri'Kissa District, then the watchmen stabbed in Cartha Gardens, then the Confederate incinerated by the hospital, and now this. But I wanted to find out the specifics of this attack.

Four Confederate soldiers were patrolling the immediate area. The man clearly in charge was a Tojay-Raht with braids. He scratched his neck as I approached (taking advantage of the fact gauntlets were not standard issue in Elsweyr).

When I was close enough to the Tojay, I opened my mouth, "Do you speak Cyrodilic?" I asked.

"Jogo te ta?"

That answered that. I gave him kind of a weak wave and smile of polite dismissal, turned, and immediately found myself face to face with a young Ohmes swordsman with feline whiskers tattoed by his nose.

"I do. What do you want to know?" he asked. His voice could have passed as a Nib's. He had obviously been training his Cyrodilic from a young age, with some native practice. Maybe if I had possessed the mood of three days ago, I would have asked him of his life's travels.

"Why was this place attacked?" I inquired, straight to business as the dark mood of the day dictated.

"This house has a history. Back when the Empire was in charge, a Khajiiti girl was raped here, on the patio, by Legion soldiers." I felt a bit self-conscious right now, it was probably a gesture of politeness for him to refer to the Empire in third person. "Oldman Trizza, who used to be the patriarch this manor, kept quiet about it. I think the Krin came back for revenge, twenty-seven years after."

'_Revenge._' That was a euphemism, since I could assume 'oldman Trizza' was dead and whoever inherited this property had paid _his_ debt.

"So the guerillas decided to take it out on the current owners?" I hoped he realized the moral repugnance.

"Yeah." He seemed totally level headed about it, though I had gathered such was his mannerism, not a callousness towards what had unfolded. "From reports it sounds like someone conjured up a clannfear. It killed everyone in that house: Ra'Skar, his wife, and his three daughters."

Elsweyr, as ugly as ever. I thought about the bloody scene the Confederates must have arrived to.

"Damn," was all I could say, letting the word evaporate into the air like smoke.

Then I added, "Did you catch the culprit?" I would love to behead that bastard. My mind flashed with an image of his mangled daughters. There were not many atrocities I saw or heard of which made me angry. I did not know what the criteria were to set me off, but this crime met those.

"No. He ran off. We're just here to secure this mansion from any looters. We already questioned the locals. We've got our other two men searching the city." Four soldiers to protect the property of the dead, two to go after the scumbag who killed them. I was not totally sure I liked that arrangement but...

"Thanks."

A pigeon fluttered between us. I wondered what the birds thought of all this violence.

"Stay safe," he responded, but with the same kind of smooth, level voice he had had the whole conversation. He was an odd find. Eitherway, I had been dismissed, and turned to head back.

Torval was undeniably sliding back into the abyss. My hopes were getting pounded into dust, each dead innocent or hero another bang. The light at the end of the tunnel was almost entirely smothered, and no one could see from where the next might come. Even when its successor arrived, how seriously could we take it? Maybe, just _maybe_ this was a streak of bad luck, and things would go back to the way they were right after Do'Dara's overthrow. I just had to hope, like I had through this entire war.


	48. Speaking Cyrodilic

"A Mane can be born only under a rare alignment of Masser and Secunda when, according to legend, a third moon appears in the sky."- Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Mid Year 7, 4E2

Ri'Kissa District, Torval

* * *

Perched on the shadowy corner of a roof, this reminded me a lot of the mission at the Antonius Sugar building. That felt a like a lifetime ago though, with Rizzani still alive, the staff not even a vague form in my imagination, and my allegiance still to the Imperial government. M'Dazzir's weapon was in my hands, and it was why I felt I could handle this alone. My sword was here too, on my hip, my hackwing claws being my first line of melee attack.

I had come to terms with the fact that Elsweyr was ugly again, the light at the end of the tunnel being a falsity, a beautiful and cruel happenstance that fizzled away into the darkness. Since the incident at the mansion, there had been at least three more attacks, two on civilians, one on the watch. I had visited one of those sights personally, seen that same haunting stare I had gotten walking past the hung prostitute three weeks ago. This victim, though, had been a boy appearing no more than seven years old, killed by an arrow shot into a crowd, for reasons the authorities had not yet put together. Maybe they never would.

So The Knights of New Elsweyr trudged forward on an empty diet, hoping the enemy wold simply give up before us. And this was our latest place in the war. It was odd intel this assignment was based upon, received from the same courier who had invited us to the city's center, but I did not ask about its origins.

There were expected to be seven or eight belligerents heading down this road, Dalgar Way. I had Khajiiti eyes and keenen legs in addition to the claws. I had been waiting for perhaps an hour now, judging by the moons.

I glanced to left again, as was routine.

This time, however, I caught something. A large gathering walking in my direction.

Was this finally them? Eight Khajiit. Nearly all of them were armed, some armored. The shape of the crowd was that of an apple, with the front two composing the stem, and the remaining forming a body. In the middle of the fruit was a Pahmar with saddle bags. This was surely the group we were tipped off about.

I began analyzing the gang tactically. I could probably take out the entire "body" of the group with a single blast, if I aimed for the quadraped in the center. Maybe the one at the rear would survive too. That would leave three to put down by conventional means...

The man in front, a Cathay, was unarmed. But behind him, a sword glinted on the hip of a Suthay. The "bottom" of this apple was a Tojay-Raht with a vest and something strapped to his back: a warhammer, from what little I could see. Confronting a hostile with a warhammer was usually an unpleasant prospect; After they swung, they were in a debilitating position thanks to their momentum, but each of their swings was deadly and unblockable, and teasing it out of them was no simple feat (incidentally, they were also one of the few archetypes which could kill an Imperial Legion soldier after hitting him in his chest piece). Still, a well timed spell could distract the feline for me to get a hit. Dealing with the swordsman should be standard procedure, but the _Cathay_, the apparently unarmed one, might be a mage. That would not be problematic one on one, but with me distracted by the other two, he could score a hit.

The quadraped was talking jovielly, and whatever he had said gained a laugh from those surrounding. They were pretty confident this was a safe stroll, I would have to bring on the nightmare.

And they were close to passing me, close to their evening turning to terror. I tried to imagine the blast radius transposed upon the group. I wished the man in the back would move just a little forwards.

I drew an imaginary line in my mind. The Pahmar crossing that line would trigger my attack.

The Cathay crossed my line. My muscles tightened and bones flowed with sweet thrill. The Suthay behind him passed it too. I would aim right for the midpoint of the sway in the Pahmar's back as soon as he tripped the wire.

He crossed that line. It was time.

I fired, the orange ball of inferno illuminating its way, soon to catch the eyes of the guerillas right before they were reduced to charred bones.

And their heads might have turned a quarter second before it hit. The spell contacted the talking tiger and exploded fantastically, engulfing the guerillas with speed both utterly merciless and generously merciful.

The one in back grabbed his face and was screaming muffled shrieks. The flames had not engulfed him, but the heat had perhaps scorched his eyes; he should not be a problem. The ones in front still had to be dealt with. They had started running without even looking back, good instincts, but retreat was not surrender, so I still had a warrant to kill them.

I vaulted over the chimney.

Bounding across the roof, it looked like a well timed jump could let me clonk the head of the swordsman just before I arrived on the ground.

Yes, right off the corner of the roof! I was getting closer...closer...Now!

I lept, wind rushing across my face, soaring at heights most men never would. Would this work?

Having reached the apex, I began sinking. Unfortunately my trajectory looked slightly wrong, but I silently prayed to the Nine it was not. I reeled my arm back for a downward swing.

This would be close, as was the ground!

I struck downwards, my feet almost on the hard dirt road.

My feet hit the street, springy legs absorbing the lethal shock. Woosh! The mighty force passed his head. It was a failure. But in a panicked realization of the staff's impending impact upon the ground, I released it, so it could disperse the kinetic energy without destroying itself. I unclasped it a foot before the ground.

Upon hitting the road it bounced erratically. What had I been thinking? But, thank the Nine for my last minute insight, it remained in tact.

The bandit was still bolting away, having gained a good deal of distance, about to turn an S bend. He would not get to feed off my mistake! I ran to the staff and snatched it up in mid-air and cast almost immediately. The defiantly glowing orange projectile was racing in his direction...no, it looked like it would miss.

With defter, more careful aim, I cast another. That looked on course.

But I realized, a bit more soberly, I needed to calm my nerves. Already my first discharge was garunteed to miss, and destroy some property at the very least. I was not a monster, yet already some people innocent people might die for my petty temper.

But the path of the swordsman and my second shot were converging just as predicted. Yes...

The magic exploded upon his back, utterly annihilating him in a display of fiery overkill. The black bones crumbled to the ground.

I put away the staff, so I would not use it again tonight. I could reflect on my carelessness later: for now, there was a second hostile, the Cathay. Could I still stop him? I started dashing forward with all my mite.

The first shot detonated in my periphery. I made the conscious decision not to look at what it had destroyed.

I navigated through the S bend, passing a brothel and a skooma den, and saw the last guerrilla still running. I was lucky that he had not been smart enough to enter an alley. That would be his last mistake. This job would be finished entirely.

He was faster due to his long legs, the distance between us significant, but he would be an easy target if I was directly behind him. And that's where I moved.

I planted myself.

Hypothermal magic was unlikely to kill him, the pain would only stagger him a bit; I had a better spell for slowing him down, which I had not used in quite some time. I whipped up the old algorithms in my mind, fresh as they needed to be, and cast.

The red cloud produced was a much faster runner than I, and as long as the cat man did not waver in his course, which he most likely would not, it would catch up to him...

My gut tightened in anticipation as it was close...

Hit! For a second he just kept running (and I resumed mine), but I knew he would not stay on their feet for long. He clutched his heart, albeit keeping pace. Then he began staggering and stumbling clumsily. Then he fell to the ground, tripping over his own momentum.

I had not used that spell since I was a patrolman in the Imperial City, but it was a damn useful one for dealing with thieves I had slowed his heart to a crawl. Stomach down, he was desperately wheezing and gasping for breath, like a man who had just risen from a pearl dive. And I, meanwhile, was gobbling up the distance between us.

The Cathay was not making any attempt to get away, too focused on catching his breath. Unsheathing my sword, I knew from experience his chances of evasion were already over. Though now came the question of what I should do with him, if he was really as defenseless as he appeared. There was the most obvious path...but should I really just kill him, toss him into the void like a used rag? Interrogation might be useful, but then what? It came back to the same question.

The Khajiit got up on his hands and knees, still gasping desperately. If only I had thought to use some of the ample quiet time I had at the sanctuary to establish a moral law for situations like this...

I slowed to a stop, a couple feet behind the wheezing catman.

With my weapon raised, I said, "Don't move, furball." Not exactly Ley Lerus worthy tough guy talk, but he was in no position to mock me.

He rolled over, half sitting up, with a hand on his swelling and contracting stomach. Did he even know Cyrodilic? Maybe I should make a habit of bringing along interpreters for every mission, though that could-

He began babbling frantically: "Tiasha ta la kazzaka. La espi ta'a quinizz! La espi ta'a quinizz! Tiasha-"

"Do you speak Cyrodilic?" I asked simply. I hoped he did, to delay the incoming moral dilemma.

"Tiasha borra, borra!"

"Do. You. Speak. Cyro-dil-ic," I tried once more, hoping.

He just kept babbling in his native tongue. _Dammit._ Now my dilemma was right in front of me.

I looked around. No one to my left. No one to my right. Looking back at the Cathay-

A blaring irregularity, he was casting, lightening flying towards my torso!

It hit and I felt a sensation like symbols had clashed in my head and my whole body was resonating violently. The guerilla scrambled to his feet!

The sensation disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived, however. I lept after the pursuer with my reptillian legs, tackling him face-down. He yelped. Imbued with a cold fury at my mercy having work against me, I pulled back his head and slit his neck with a talon.

He cried out. I dropped his head and stood as he rolled over to clutch his throat, the futile last grasp at life every man makes. He had got what he had deserved for trying to run. Though he had, mercifully, made the decision of what to do with him for me. _  
_

Though perhaps he had tried to escape his own execution, which may have indeed been the inevitable decision I would have made.

Regardless, the decision was over, even if concluded morbidly. I had killed far more than I would have liked this night, but at least it was over.

What I had been hit with was an electric spell, clearly a beginners work, the kind of token precursor to real destruction magic one might be able to concoct after two or three months of instruction.

And now the rebel was staring at the night sky without life.

He had no pockets, so I simply shifted my attention back to the roads.

Ahead, directly ahead of the path we had been running, there was a door ever so slightly opened, only by perhaps a few inches, but it stood out so starkly. My intuition strongly indicated that is where the rebel had been running. It was on a large building of unclear purpose, flanked by two small windows that gleamed twilight from within. A guerrilla safehouse?

Though I could safely assume all my morally dicey actions this night had come and gone, this night was not quite over.

I began walking towards it. Was this just an overactive imagination, or were my instincts really leading me somewhere? I had learned how useful they could be from Dune, when I had saved my squad from a small ambush.**  
**

A slight eerie feeling had taken me as I headed to the alluring door. I kept walking mechanically towards it, though feeling ever alert for an anomaly in the soundscape, an apparition from the portal, or the pressure of a gaze.

A pigeon, having a late night, fluttered between two alleys in front of me

I was about half way there.

Maybe it would turn out to be a whimsical mistake made by a civilian. But cleansing another insurgent safehouse was always a great help to Elsweyr. It was my duty to kill the guerrillas where ever I found them.

A few more paces. How many bad guys might be in this house?

I stopped in front of it. Time for the moment of truth. Adrenaline seeped into my muscles and organs. With a boosting of my bodily and kinestetic consciousness, I put my hand on the handle, and then gently, lightly pushed it, ears as fragile as glass for the sound of a creak or the voice of an enemy.

It creaked a little, and my visceral alterness spiked.

But there was no response. I continued pushing, this time with less fear, and even a bit of elation; My entrance, at least, would go unnoticed, if this place was even inhabited.

What was being revealed seemed to be a large room. Little furniture, an unlit fire place with a clock on the mantle.

Not needing to open anymore, I stepped in with soft footfalls.

There were some candles on the wall, but it was nearly bare otherwise. I looked to my left and saw only an empty wrack, and then I turned to my right and-

Something had changed in the transitional blur, I swung my gaze back and saw a tall, armed Altmer! His clothing glowed with an enchantment, a slight sinister smile on his face, gold hair tied back. He had an Elven sword in his right hand and his left ostentatiously radiated a heat distortion. What demon was this!?

"Stand down, agent of Cyrodiil. It would be in your best interest, considering the arrows pointed at your back."

I looked rearward to see an archer with his bow primed, a dark-skinned Bosmer in parsimonious armor made of bones. I turned to my right and saw an identically adorned Wood Elf bowman.

This place indeed had bandits, but they were the ones delivering the ambush. I had walked into a trap like a bumbling fool! Petty curiosity had turned into serious consequence!

I turned back to the blonde to see the same self-satisfied expression. If I misbehaved, his lackies would send arrows through my organs and end my life. Because of one innocuous decision one innocuous night, my enemies had me. My eyes darted erratically, looking for...anything that might help me escape.**  
**

"Your Empire has been making quite a ruckus here, lately." I did not even bother objecting to the accusation that I was still with the Empire. "Incinerating houses, stabbing your friend Do'Dara in the back-"

A jolt of anger came at his words. "You think I was the only person he did business with?" The papers we had gathered at Hattada-Nu showed his one hundred or so other transaction! "I did not give him enough to outfit one soldier!" He had some gall, fitting with the mean spirited and obstructionist attitudes of modern times.

"Yes...and a good thing too," he mused, voice silky. "Otherwise you would have quite impeded your criminal overthrow of the sovereign king." Do'Dara, a sovereign king!? He was calling me a criminal for putting down that tyrannical usurper!?

"What the hell does 'sovereign king' even mean to you!? He _snatched_ his throne! The locals tried to overthrow Do'Dara themselves. Were _they_ criminals!?" I was now thoroughly enraged.

He simply smiled. _Answer me, you bastard!_

But the anger, which he must have loved to see, had almost made me forget my situation. It was amazing how invested I could get in political argument. How to escape is what I should have been thinking over. Two arrows were pointed at my back.

Even so, I could not ignore how my blood boiled at the unjust distortions so common in Fourth Era proclamations.

He continued. "Do'Dara was Elsweyr's one chance at order, mister Imperial."

"Then don't vilify me for doing business with him!" I shot back, words turgid with anger, reacting almost as instantaneously. Even in such danger, I could not suffer this foolishness! **  
**

"And now terrorists roam the street, letting Daedra loose in mansions, hacking off the heads of civilians..."

"And I'm trying to stop them while you're working for them!" I shouted. My fury had grown exponentially. Even being surrounded, fully exposed to three armed hostiles, could not keep my little black beast below the surface.

And that was bad. I had to discipline my mind, I had to ponder my escape. These legs could launch me pretty far...

"They'll leave when you do, mister Imperial. They are only here to fight the Empire's occupation of their homeland."**  
**

"Bullshit!" I yelled angrily. "You think they're killing igma and Nonarians because of some Empire one hundred miles away? They've got much more than _me_ on their agenda." The words, the refutation, was almost reflexive. Fury burned within me when I should only have felt anxiety. Dammit, was this a tactic?

My memories of the Arcane University were coming back, quite vivid. I had argued with so many foreigners, mostly Altmer, about these sorts of things. Those Summersets always seemed, like this man, to be reaching their condemnations from a pre-ordained bitterness to the Empire, rather than the earnest and noble path of the reverse.

_Calm down_. I needed to calm down. Riling myself up was bad.

I took a deep breath and said, "Besides, we're not 'occupying' anything; We have the Mane's permission to be here, just like the Nords that helped ancient Cyrodiil overthrow the Aylieds."

That was my last iota of attention for this petty, verbal scuffle. No more, what so ever. I would try to fuzz my mind to any more of his provocative rhetoric. It was amazing how much I had invested already.

If I launched myself right at him, perhaps I could use him as a human shield against the inevitable arrows, then back into the door behind the him so the archers would have to get up close to take me on. **  
**

The Altmer, oblivious to what I pondered, continued. "They don't want you here, Imperial..." _Stay calm._ "But I would be interested to know what gives you such marvelous...morphology."

Why did this seem familiar? This conversation was going in the same pattern as my last with a mysterious foreign elf. Was there some relationship between the mer in the Sugar Groves District and the ones that were facing me now? "Your reptilian legs, where did they come from?" Was their a unity I was not seeing?

"That's none of your fetching business," I said, steadfast. Though their attempt to pry answers from me might be what was keeping me alive, keeping the arrowheads out of my fleshy, peach back.**  
**

"And Elsweyr is not yours," he said simply. _Stay cool._ I was keeping my flames from rising successfully, so far. "Now tell me, Cyrodiil, is the Empire's college of battlemages really so ingenious that they have learned to transmute biological matter?" That was off base, but how long until they started zeroing in on the truth, noticing how Cyrodiil's new super-soldiers coincided with the 'opening' of Black Marsh? And who exactly would be the beneficiary of that information? Were these elves just a simple mercenary syndicate or...or what?**  
**

They could not expect me to answer this with straight forward questioning. And if they intended to torture this out of me, they would have to immobilized me first. That would give me a new opportunity to fight back. That might be the saving grace of this situation. However, one arrow to the back of the knee could severely diminish my mobility before they got their hands on me...I had to think about how to escape this _now_, it was too risky to bank on anything.

Jumping at the swordsman and using him as a human shield...it seemed sound except that as soon as I started flying there was a good chance he would bring his sword to bear.

Could I use the rafters? But what good would that possibly do? Pouncing him from there would only give him more time to prepare, and staying on the rafters and casting magic would still leave me vulnerable to two archers and a fire spell, with no cover.

"You would do well to answer, Imperial freak."

It should not surprise me that finding a way out of this was hard, if even possible. My heart was accelerating as more and more options in my mind were invalidated.

I could cast a frost spell at the target, perhaps, and jump after he was hit and recoiling. But could I even get through the motions of casting before getting pegged in the back? Imagining my fastest spell...

"Answer me, filthy human!" the elf commanded, some frustration starting to seep into his voice.

It should not surprise me these answers were important to him. The powers of the Hist Sap could be a terrifying advantage to all kinds of unsavory people. It could bring obscure crime syndicates into historic infamy, and turn weak nations into serious threats. Why had the importance of the information in my brain not crossed my mind sooner? Why should I be surprised someone would try to capture me? I had to kill these elves or die trying.

My mind was rushing over all the features of the room and directions I could go. No matter who I jumped at, I would be at the mercy of at least one bowman. Dammit.

Maybe this was time for an honorable martyrdom, to simply attack, without hope of victory. Perhaps -

The Altmer began angrily marching towards me. "You will-" I knew this, somehow, was my chance, my sweet relief, my twinkle of blessing, and launched my self forward.

I rushed towards his shocked face and reared my claw back. His sword was coming to bear but I landed inches before him, and swung my hand into his neck.**  
**

The talons landed in his throat with a fleshy thump and I instinctually jabbed the other set into his back, earning a horrid cacophony of gurgling screams. I fluently rotated the victim and his back became the receptical of two arrows, each jolting his already tortured body. He was a victim of tactical utility.

I released my grips from the now thoroughly devastated blonde, letting him fall to the ground with his last dignity. Next victim. I refocused and lept towards the left archer as he desperately tried to reload; A race against time it was clear he would lose. I landed in front of the swarthy Bosmer with an ominous clunk and smacked my nails into his neck, then skewered him with the other hand and swerved rightward. His short body intercepted another arrow, the second adversary to unwillingly preserve my life.

I dropped the poor man into a crumpled, bloody mess, now a terrifying predator,and lept for the fear faced, wide eyed, final guerrilla This time I would pounce him by the shoulders.

Contact, his stash of arrows spilling upon the floor, his pupils wide and dark as the void. I did not plunge the claws into his neck; Rather, I sliced: gave him a deep, rugged slash across the throat, a lethal wound four times over, spawning copious amounts of blood. He clasped his tender neck grasped and writhed.

I rose callously as he watched his life scramble away from him while his enemy would live on.

The chessboard had been flipped. It all happened so mind-bogglingly fast I almost forgot what opportunity I had taken advantage of.

The gurgles and kicking of my last victim were still vigorous, crimson still on my claws, but they had brought it upon themselves. I had acted out of necessity, and should be proud of my performance.

I noticed the door outside was still opened: not enough for anyone to witness the macabre combat, but 'opened' none the less. I did not like that. I walked over to it. I peaked out, seeing no one on the streets (good), and closed it shut, separating my miniature battleground, or graveyard, from the starry night.

My last victim had finally found peace, and I looked upon the doors on the back wall. I decided to head towards the first one my eyes fell upon.

The fluids of the sword-bearer had made quite a large pool. How many holes had been punched in that poor body? Four, four, and two. An ironic fate for such a smug man, and a sure way to liberate fluids so quickly.

I could a hear bit of yelling from outside. Maybe someone had found the guerrillas I had vaporized, or maybe it was unrelated.

Making it to the door, I had to assume this place was empty now, if no one had responded to the calamity. That did not put 'locked' out of the question, though: that was another reason that perhaps I should not have done this alone. _You live and you learn._

I gave it an experimental tug and it opened. Good. What was revealed seemed to be a study of some sort, containing a desk with papers on it. It was unlit, though my Khajiiti eyes made additional light unnecessary.

I glanced over my shoulder once (nothing but the dead behind me, of course), and then stepped in and got to looking over the material. On top was a document written in foreign characters...Aldmeris? It's format reminded me a bit of a Legion criminal profile report, but with characters unreadable, that did me little good. With all the mystery surrounding these elves, it was a damn shame I could not read Aldmeris.

There was another paper below it. Probably more of the same, but I lifted the former document so it might be unobscured.

No, not more of the same. A drawing, a face with a strikingly familiar scar. _My_ face!_  
_

I superstitiously glanced over my shoulder again (still nothing). Then back at the desk. They had been thinking about me for far longer than this night.

There were a few drawers. I pulled out the one on the top left. Empty. I pulled out the one on the top right. Empty. I pulled out the one on the bottom. There were a few more papers written in Aldermis, but moving them around proved that was it.

I pushed the drawer back in and my eyes fell on my portrait again. Hardly a common thing to stumble upon in an enemy entrenchment.


	49. Fond of You

"The Imperial Province has continued to be the stable heart of the Empire, offering a model to its satellites of a government that settles disputes by diplomacy, not by force of arms. The recent marriage of Lady Alessia, daughter of the Countess of Chorrol to Count Marius Caro of Leyawiin typifies this, a perfect blend of love and sound political judgement." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, The Seat of Sundered Kings: Cyrodiil

Mid Year 12, 4E2

Shorta Road, Tenmar Forest

* * *

It was a foggy morning, the dirt path moist below my scaley feet. It was yet another day that called for the enemy's blood, and I had assigned Collects-Rocks and I to do the deed.

We were not on the main road yet. Some unfathomable distance in the direction I faced, past a strip of my own homeland, was the province I had opened, which I had only just heard news about: apparently a political was movement was forming, of both settled Argonians and tribesmen, known as An-Xileel; It was not warm to the Empire and its ventures into Black Marsh's interior. Fitting for these times: Nothing was greeted with a friendly smile in this cynical, dark era.

We were approaching the highway, the one that led to the famous and majestic city, the center of great wealth and much more destruction and chaos. The road was just becoming visible through the fog.

But as we got to the intersection, I noticed something out of the far left of my field of view. A large silhoutte through the mists:

A caravan, not moving. The Senche-Rahts who had been pulling it were dead, pin-cushioned with arrows. There was some spectral light forming a shell around the back...a ward spell. And there were three barbarians standing and chattering hungrily before it with diverse weapons raised, no doubt waiting for it to go down:

The belligerents were a tall female with a war-axe, a burly man with a warhammer, and an archer, arrow loaded. Robbers, and I knew whoever was inside could not maintain that shield for much longer. My talents were being called for before our mission even began.

I unsheathed my sword and began bounding towards the trio. While the element of surprise gave a key advantage, I was prepared to yell to get the bandit's attention away from the civilians if the spell faltered. Good thing I was arriving, two saving graces that combined to make a miracle. But as my animal feet pounded the dirt, I kept my vocal cords primed.

I was about halfway to those vicious, hungry predators.

The civilian behind the magic was female, but I wondered if she had noticed me in the periphery yet. Either way, it was becoming clear there were people with her, she was protecting far more than just herself, so a lot of lives banked on _me _to complete the salvation, white knight of a black land.

Eyes on the axe-weilder, eager to spill some evil blood and cleave some wicked flesh, I broke from the run into a leap. Flying through the air like no ordinary man could, the wind across my reptilian legs and bare feet, these moments were becoming an icon of my powers. Somehow, it seemed I had got her attention at the same time, as she began to turn around, but only right as I landed.

My sword buried itself deep in her torso and sent her staggering and crashing into the side of the vehicle. Justice had found her. I turned to the burly man at her side, just in time to see the heavy metallic blurr rushing to my skull.

I ducked, a heavy gust passing over my hair before I slashed in the opposite direction, cutting a gash below the Cathay's navel before stabbing him. He let out a baritone cry, dropped his weapon and clutched his wound. Knowing there was an archer behind him, no doubt getting more primed by the second, I pushed the hulking, now useless man aside (facing no resistance as he fell over rightward). I instinctively leaped, seven feet in the air. I felt expected arrow rush between my feet, and as I transcended human ability the archer lifted his gaze upward in awe and terror, back-pedaling clumsily before I descended and cleaved into his torso.

That put at least a couple organs out of commission. I lifted the sword out of the lanky, stun-faced catman, now throughly reddened with three Khajiit's blood, and then pushed him over with arrogant finesse, watching him fall back in a fate he blankly submitted to.

There was no greater justice than the kind that catches a sinner by surprise.

After that frantic burst of steel and blood, calm had reclaimed this bit of Tenmar. The rythmic croaks of creatures unknown and chirping of bugs took their place in the forefront soundscape.

Perhaps those cowards never thought they would live to see a real fight, and know what it felt like to be the victim. But whether these were simple opportunistic robbers or insurgents using sordid methods to fund their operations was unknowable. We had witnessed both in Dune.

I turned back to see the who had been behind the spell, which was now deactivated. The caster was a plainly dressed Tojay-Raht woman catching her breath, clearly not someone who had seen combat, at least in a long time. Behind her stood a wide-eyed toddler (that spell might have been augmented with a mother's will to protect her offspring) as well as few adults: a spectacle wearing merchant Tojay, an earring loaded Dagi, a thoroughly bearded old Ohmes man, and a cute little Alfiq. They were all just slabs of meat to highwaymen, of course. Together we had saved a lot of lives, and it was a temporal miracle my powers had been able to complement her's.

The woman's expression was mostly relief, but with a pinch of...something else. It was hard to tell because she was not looking directly at me.

And finally she did lift her eyes to me. Her gaze was a bit harder than I would expect in her shoes.

"Well," she said. "This one supposes she should thank you."

That sounded a little...reserved.

"You suppose?"

I could hear Collects-Rocks catching up behind me. He had just witnessed an impressive display by his leader, but this woman's luke warm reception was more prominent in my mind.

"Well, this one must confess, she has not been terribly fond of you. You are Densius Fidelis, leader of 'Elsweyra Ja Sabiruhto', correct?"

_Oh gods. _What grievance did _this_ lady have? I had enough experience with foreigners to know it would not be worth hearing, let alone with that stupid sounding dialect.

Either way, maybe what had occurred today would encourage her to look at me differently. "Yeah. And like me or not, I'll be gone as soon as we stomp out all the bastards like them." Pointing a hand blindly to the corpses behind me. "Can't say the same for our enemies."

Her expression looked somewhat worn.

"What's your issue with Densius Fidelis?" Collects-Rocks asked from behind. _Oh great._ _Stupid boy._ Did he really think this woman would have anything worth hearing? I prepared for my blood pressure to increase.

"Well..." she began, with a mix of reluctance and trace anger. "I appreciate your rescue. But when you came to our part of the city to...oust General Do'Dara, I believe it was _you_ who destroyed my neighbor's house. They found three skeletons and the father has not been seen since."

Maybe in other circumstances that tale would have touched me, but the adrenaline and irritation left that part of Densius Fidelis dormant. It was childish to dwell on one family in the grandiosity of overthrowing a tyrant.

"I'm sorry for you loss." I stated, hard as stone. "But he and his family were a small sacrifice compared to what was at stake. A few good people dying to oust a tyrant is a bargain in historical terms."

She looked to the side and snorted lightly. She did not like my words, and perhaps they were a bit clumsy, but no way I would devote time to thinking of how to honey coat in war time.

"Where were you headed?" Collects-Rocks asked. He did not even seem to mind any of what he just heard. I could not wrap my head around such a mindset.

"We were trying to flee the country. Then those bandits killed our drivers and took two of this one's children away, due Eastward it appeared. This one thinks they intended to ransom them to me at a later date, they weren't done with _us_." So, I would have a second chance to slap her negativity towards The Knights of New Elsweyr in the face if I could catch up with the other robbers.

She then looked down and hissed under her breath, "Chit za, K'Raska."

"Don't blame K'Raska." I countered with conviction. "That's what the terrorists want."

A monkey screamed.

"Well..." she began. "My husband worked for K'Raska. Now he's dead. Killed for being 'a collaborator.'" She looked down again. "Killed by this wretched Mane's vision."

My temper getting a little hot, I shot back, "Then honor his memory instead of siding with the ones who killed him!" The words had some power.

She did not say anything, continuing to look down. The sentence seemed to echo through the otherwise empty woods. I could not see her eyes, whether they burned with anger or melancholy or regret at cursing her rightful king.

Then, I continued, regaining the professionalism I should have had all along, "What can you tell me about the group who went off with your children? Like how many were there and what were their breeds and so forth?"

She inhaled, and let out a somewhat forceful sigh, and then looked me in the eyes again. "I believe there were four of them. At least three. One was a tall Cathay-Raht...with a sword. He wore metal armor. Another carried an axe. He wore armor as well, kappa scales if I am not mistaken. They were the ones who grabbed my children. Another one was an archer. There may have been a second archer as well." A hearty force.

"Thank you." I said. We were still on the same side, grievances or not.

"This one is sure you can still catch them, but do be careful." I knew she meant with the lives of her children, not with my own. That I would do.

I turned Eastward. The fog was quite tactically significant today. No doubt they heard the steel and screams. So the bandits were either on the run or on alert. In either case, the best we could do is run 'due Eastward' and hope they had not been smart enough to veer.

Expecting my younger comrade to go with the flow, I began charging in direction with these springy legs, beginning my second rescue today. I might well dispatch seven bad guys before today's mission even started.

Crossing from road into jungle, all different kinds of leaves and branches smacked against my legs. A bird's lonesome cry emminnated from a place unknown, and the foliage rustled under my hips. A tree frog croaked.

A humanoid form was becoming visible. It had the curves of a female, and a primed bow in hand.

Then I saw her stop suddenly, and say something sharp and quick to unseen. I began to cast as she turned around, getting the spell in the air before visual contact.

The frost magic flew through the air, the first thing she saw, and hit her in the chest, and I charged and leaped as she recoiled, landing and striking into her. She cried out, but before she could fall I, remembering my encounter with the elves, grabbed her under the armpit and across the back (as best I could) and rotated her towards her comrades as a shield while she bled onto my shoulder.

There were three other hostiles, two of them holding the children. There was another archer, bandanna faced, the black eye of his arrowhead staring at me.

Suddenly a rustling turned his head. Collects-Rocks, no doubt. He swiveled and directed his arrow towards my invisible comrade for an immediate firing, with cold, hard, damning eyes. My heart skipped a beat for the boy's safety, but whatever would be his fate I wasted not a second dropping the girl and casting a second frost spell..

As the icy air left my finger tips, I noticed Collects-Rocks had not cried out, and the foliage continued to rustle. Good. The bandit was still focused on him, reloading, when the spell stung his bow arm, causing him to drop it in a scream of surprise and pain.

He waved it wildly for a second, as if trying to shake the burn off, and then Rocks came bumbling into view, gaining the simple advantage of proximity**. **He dodged an attempt by the guerrilla to stab him with his arrow and stuck the long metal into the Khajiit's gut. He withdrew the blade. The bandit fell.

Those were the immediate threats dealt with, a nicely intimidating display for the remaining.

The melee combatants remained. Predictably, they held their ground but did not aggress. These last two held the kids, and they were armored, as I had been told. The larger one, the Cathay, held the smaller child to his chest. His friend took cue and pulled the other kid, a ten year old I would reckon, in front of him.

This next stage would not be so easy.

Or would it? The simple solution which entered almost made me laugh; They must have known who they were dealing with, recognized the scaly legs, and that meant they knew about my staff. I almost smirked as I sheathed my sword and immediately (not allowing them to think it an olive branch) brought the staff on my back to bear.

The faces of the two criminals turned a bit more humble.

I spoke, the first utterance in this air that was not a cry or grunt. "You know human shields don't work with me," I said, smooth and cocky.

The Cathay had fallen a bit slack jawed. Maybe they did not understand Cyrodilic, but they understood context.

Very slowly the taller thug knelt down with the utmost gentleness and care to put down his captive, while his hazy minded partner ungrasped his own.

And they just stood there staring for a second. I could have laughed at the expressions on their faces. And then the metal one turned and started bolting away, clanking through the foliage, and his partner taking the cue to do the same.

Maybe I could still get a better angle and kill them as they ran, though that did seem a rather cruel idea. Still, they or their friends had murdered the drivers of the caravan, so perhaps they deserved death. But if they could go back and tell the other's their story, showing how I kept my word...

But it was probably too late, their forms now invisible through the fog. Good, I liked being able to lay my decisions to rest. Yes, it was too late. Hopefully word of what had happened here would spread.

The toddler I had just rescue was still in a bit of a daze. But he snapped out of it and ran towards me babbling gratitude in Ta'agran. After days upon days of nothing but blood and hate and carnage, it was a refreshing sight. I got down on one knee for the impending hug, and he wrapped his arms around my adult neck. I closed my eyes for the split second and let it sink in, the soft side of every province.

And then we both disengaged and I stood up. His brother was standing by Collects-Rocks now.

I addressed my subordinate, "C'mon, let's get these boys back to mom." An exotic bird chirped as if marking our beautiful victory.

I began walking. Back through the leaves and stems of many plants. And again hearing the bird call.

These poor kids had seen horrible things. But while it might haunt their dreams at a later date, now things were good, now was a time for thinking about what they _had not_ lost. My timely arrival at the caravan had been a simple miracle, saving many innocents, and justly smiting several criminals in the most karmatic way: to their surprise. The people of Elsweyr had probably almost forgotten what a glimmer of luck looked like. Maybe I had given them a long desired treat. For once these ravaged people could indulge in providence.

It was not often we got to see the humanitarian benefits of our work so immediately, but those were always my favorite moments. I had a rich collection of memories from my time in Dune.

There were a thousand species of plant in this jungle, and judging by the familiarity of a rather flimsy, twig like one I was approaching, we were close to the road.

And the children broke out into a run, passing me with the rapid patter of feet, heading to the real star of their show: into the arms of their mother.

I maintained pace, with a mix of humility and pride, to receive the thanks of lady who once despised me, who I had twice served. If this did not give her a change of heart, it would at least give her something heavy to think of. Too bad she would not stay in Elsweyr, she might spread kind words.

When I came into her line of sight, her children were standing behind her. The woman looked up at me with a full smile and glassy eyes. This time the her expression was pure.

"Thank you, Mr. Fidelis," she gushed. She grabbed my left hand and kissed it. "_Thank you_."

I was pleased to see she had become a lot more reverent, having time to stew and her kids returned. She continued, "I would give you a token of my gratitude, but in truth it was all spent bribing the man at the gates."

People on our side being scoundrels. That was always disheartening, but I would not let it get to me right now. This was a moment of unity, warmth, and gratitude.

"Don't mention it..." was all I said. I had almost forgotten our original assignment, which seemed now rather petty after looking into the eyes of a mother whose children I had saved.

I asked, for no particular reason, "Where are you heading?"

"Cyrodiil," she responded, lacking the specificity I was expecting. "Getting out of this miserable country."

It brought down my mood a bit to hear her talk ill of the nation I worked so hard to save, even when she was heading to my beloved homeland. But this was still a moment for kindness, so I said, "I'm sure you'll make a fine citizen."

All three of her offspring were now looking at me with wide, intent eyes. Perhaps I had become something like the papa they had lost. But I had work elsewhere in this province. "Well, I have to go. More evil afoot."

"Goodbye, Mr. Fidelis," the mother said.

But after my first couple of steps I heard her speak again. "Densius..." I turned. "I've heard a lot of things...said...about you...but I see now there's...they're wrong."

_'A lot of things' 'said' about me. _So there was a rich choir of voices decrying me in the city I risked my life for. I had always suspected as much, but to hear it confirmed...almost idly, that brought my mood down another peg. It was becoming hard to ignore the foul parts of my spirit.

"Thanks," was all I replied, turning with a lackluster gesture of a wave, and began moving again.

The afterglow of my rescue had dimmed. Now there was a slightly rotten feeling in me, thinking of all the people in Torval, who I at times loved almost like they were my children, cursing me behind my back. I had a feeling that part of our conversation would come to haunt me more than her gratitude.


	50. Foreign Voices

"Khajiit are commonly considered one of the beast folks, one of the few survivors of the original inhabitants of Tamriel before the coming of mer and man, and Elsweyr is their home. This tradition is not, of course, accepted by one and all. Alternate theories abound that their origin, based mainly around the fact that one of the breeds of Khajiit, the Ohmes-Raht, so closely resembles the elven folk that they could be cousins. Some believe that the Khajiit are simply descendant of the original Aldmer settlers in Tamriel, who evolved, like the Altmer, Bosmer, Dunmer, and Orsimer, because of circumstance, ito the cat-like race that walks the dunes of Elsweyr. If so, they are just one more of the alien, sentient species who have made themselves so much a part of Tamriel to be confused for natives." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Mid Year 18, 4E2

Imperial Camp, Tenmar Forest

* * *

Cicero was sharpening his sword against the grinding stone, sparks flying into the foliage to disappear out of view.

"Brought you more power crystals," a voice called from behind. I turned.

He was the husband, next to the Tojay-Raht mother with her three children by her side. He was the same breed, a good, clean, wholesome looking man, well muscled from hard work, in a budi.

"Thank you," I said, taking the shipment into my own hands.

Then there was a orange blur behind him, and the next thing I knew an axe had cleaved down his head. The scene had been destroyed with a most harsh and depraved gore: a broken face. The innocent man fell forward, mercifully depriving us of the macabre view, to reveal a familiar Khajiit...S'Azza! The leader of the Renrijra Krin! The elusive but truest visage of the evil we faced, right in front of me!

He was smiling, gleeful in the blood, just like the name of his organization implied.

"Give these people their lives back!" Calindel said from the bench across from me, another heated argument at the Arcane University. She wanted me to leave these forests.

"You mean reward S'Azza for what he's done? Tell all the monsters of history that all they need to do to get their way is murder?"

And then I was staring back at S'Azza's sinister fanged grin, dark spots of innocent blood on his brow. The wife and children were but fuzzy figures in the periphery of my vision.

A voice came from the distant side, and I turned to see the Khajiit from the Sugar Groves District. "Are you really so surprised you are facing resistance?" he asked. And then he faded into the air like a whisp of smoke.

I looked back for an explanation, only seeing the others depart the same way, the world around me losing its coherence, the fabrics of reality tearing and falling.

"Resistance!?" I shouted into the cosmos, not knowing if any ears could receive my words. "You're the only reason I have to _be_ here!"

And then the world was being pulled into the void as I floated away towards a different destiny. I knew now this was an illusion, a dream, and I was now trying to remember where I would arrive back. What was reality?

My eyes opened and I was staring at the stone ceiling...in the same forest, but a different base in a different life. My memories came flooding back like water undammed: Cicero was long dead. I was underground, in a night gown and covers, a hero turned renegade, having gone from a Skingrad commoner to a mages guild student to a soldier to special operative to _this_.

And now the dream was seeping away. What had it been about? The powerful lines and the people were retained, as was the depraved gore, but all I knew otherwise was that it was a cry of despair from my burdened brain, and perhaps an echo of the dead souls who had been lost to our relentlessly evil enemy, whose corpses had only been used to vilify _our_ cause. And now I was back in this world, to trudge forward on that heavy road of unknown destination.**  
**

I turned to the left. Everyone but Jilheen had woken, it seemed. I turned to the right, correct.

I stewed for a bit, haunted.

In this world I was a deserter. What if I had submitted to the path the Ocato expected of me, come back to Cyrodiil? I would be reading about this province crumbling, feeling helpless, but I would have still been a hero in the public's eyes. I could be doing interviews with Believe It! magazine, have beautiful women of all creeds knocking at my door. The back of my mind would still be irritated at leaving Elsweyr behind, but even now it was not clear I would succeed at pacifying this place. Why should I have ever suspected a few men could? And now I was a deserter. A criminal. The name Densius Fidelis was dirty.

But it was too late to change that. I just had to keep marching through this existence, hoping there was light at the end of the tunnel. At the very least, even if we lost, we would prove to the barbarians that civilized men did not go down easily, leave a defiant marker in history. I had to continue on, put one foot in front of the other.

The first step was getting out of bed.

I sat up and swung my feet around.

My stomach growled. Perhaps I would be in a better mood upon eating. I looked to the Mess Hall door. There was not any chatter coming from it, so I had probably slept past breakfast again.

I stood and walked. At the very least, some of the bread from yesterday should be left. And that was all I needed; I was not in the mood for anything sweet.

I pushed opened the door.

There was one occupant: S'Nirem, gnawing on a piece of the long, culturally stylized loaf. There was just enough left for my morning sustenance. I sat down and grabbed the butt.

The Khajiit swallowed. I decided, before taking my own bite, to ask the usual question:

"Any news?" I asked. Probably more killings, mundane for this nation but macabre to the human conscience, reality about as forgiving as my dreams.

"A Nonarian gal was beaten to death in the Commerce District, and another arrow got fired into a crowd. Nothing much else."

Yes, Elsweyr rolled forward, more innocent people lost their lives. It almost seemed miracle the land had not yet been drained of all its blood. Surreal amounts had already been spilled, more than I would have ever imagined in Dune. And we just kept hoping the enemy would break arbitrarily, since the thought of my own surrender had come to my mind again and again.

I looked down at the piece of bread I had grabbed. Its interiors many tiny caves and fibrous bridges could fit an entire civilization in its networks, its caverns. It would probably work better than the civilization they had here.

I took a bite and chewed.

My eye caught a familiar looking piece of paper, stern and new parchment, sitting by S'Nirem. He noticed my gaze.

"I brought you a present too," he said.

It was obvious what this was. _Oh great._ He pushed it across the table. It was still duty to keep up to date and the propaganda fed to our enemies. I looked down at my arch nemesis:

_**The Fourth Era Pundit:**_

**A murderer and a martyr**

Oh gods, with a title like that this clearly would be a _really_ unpleasant read (I could guess I was the murderer, but had no idea who I had 'martyred').

None the less, I held my breath and dived into the icy waters.

**Have you ever had your family taken from you, incinerated to bones, by a giant balls of fiery death for nothing at all? Have you ever had your king murdered in his palace by a foreigner? Perhaps you should move to Elsweyr!**

**It was the tragic night of Mid Year 29th that the forces of the Imperial Puppet Mane K'Raska and his marauding gang of Cyrodiils (former business partners with the victim, infact) stormed the southern half of the beautiful city of Torval to kill the maverick nationalist General Do'Dara. Homes were destroyed with war magic and hundreds of men were killed in the ensuing battle.**

**Order in his sector quickly fell apart upon his death, with the departed Do'Dara no longer there to maintain it. Since then, the rulers' former domain has seen a language tutor murdered in her own home, a citywatch barracks raided, and thefts from the famed Hallera Ri'Tum, and much more. No doubt, this chaos was the Empire's intention. When has the Empire ever wanted to help another province for the sake of it?**

**As Cyrodiil continues to tear up Khajiiti land, we can only hope more brave men and women will lay down their lives to fight the foreigners.**

**-Erranil**

This was their most outrageous article yet! My heart pounded, hot blood rushing through my veins! They were going to defend a man who killed off an entire district for rebellion while calling me a murderer for a few civilians casualties of war? They were going to label General Do'Dara a legitimate ruler while supporting those who sought to overthrow the moon elected Mane?

And these types would not stop rubbing my nose in that little transaction I made! The General had conducted a hundred more with other people! I had their names on paper in my office!

But all those names would be forgotten, because they never returned to the scene of the crime. Only _my_ honor would be stained...all because I had done right by killing him!

And yet they treated even that with disdain...

If overthrowing a tyrant like Do'Dara to replace him with a leader picked by the most agreeable and legitimate form of governance yet known: divine right, was evil, what the hell was considered _good_ in this wretched era? What the hell did Tamriel want?

The bitter choirs of this rancid generation weighed heavily on me.

Suddenly a muffled noise brought my mind back: Knocking at the stony entrance. Four knocks? Yes. Then a pause. That was the signal K'Raska's messenger had agreed to use with us. Fortunately, I had something to take my mind of the words of the vile bitch Erranil (if that was even a female name), and a chance to fortify again anger with a psychedelic mind once it slinked back.

I stood up as he began a second set of knocks. I walked out the dining room door towards the secret entrance. The chores of the external world did to keep my mind in stewing over wretched words.

I pulled the lever, letting the slab of bricks descend, awaiting the sight of a fellow who was becoming another addition to our possy, albeit a queer one. He was not visible yet but...

As expected, it was the Mane's humble little servant with the walking stick we had negotiated he use. This time his vest was blue, and he sported a pair of fine spectacles.

"Ah, Mr. Fidelis, a pleasure to see you again," he said with a small bow.

"Likewise," I said simply.

"We've got another important find for you, my good man. Another little stain in the city for you to wipe away." Kind of funny to hear violence referred to so...casually by a harmless looking little guy, but I accepted the parchment in his hand.

"Thanks." I looked down. But before my eyes made sense of the letters:

"If I may ask, Mr. Fidelis, are...aware of anything relevant to an Imperial presence in Riverhold."

Imperial presence? He could not mean troops, those were all gone. So what did that mean? And why would I know? Did even this man think I still maintained ties with the Empire, like those annoying "pundits?" And if I did, why would I give away their secrets to some temporary foreign allies?**  
**

"No, what do you mean?"

He rubbed the dusty floor a little with his fancy footwear and then replied, "Well, there have been rumors circulating of Imperial...agents in the northern tip of our province. It is as of yet unconfirmed, but a fair amount of Cyrodilic travelers have been frequenting the region, and we were wondering if, perhaps, you knew anything about that?"

Why would I? And if I did, would not that be protected intelligence? These foreigners were trying to pry something sensitive out of me. A sense of discomfort and mild anger wet my spirits. "Why _would_ I?"

"I did not mean to imply you were withholding anything," the humble Khajiit promptly amended. _And I should be proud if I was!_ "My honored leige K'Raska simply mandated I ask." A foreigner dared to probe his generous Imperial servant for the secrets of his dearest loyalty?

I could say something, assert myself angrily...but who could blame a politician for seeking secrets? No man could ever think himself wrong to acquire knowledge.

There was a brief silence. With nothing obvious to fill it, I simply looked down at the paper.

The Dagi said "Good day," out of view and immediately got the walking back where he came from. I would dismiss the previous tension.

**Honored Elsweyra Ja Sabiruhto**

**An undercover operative of ours has identified a stronghold of the Elsweyr Revolutionary Faction in the Ri'Kissa District. This house, addressed 42 Zazsi Way, should contain six hostile occupants until sun down. We require you to eliminate the rebels within this dwelling. A significant quantity of weapons are being stored here (your adversaries will be well armed) and two of the occupants are Senches, so use your discretion to keep your men safe. The house has only one floor, and the windows facing the street will likely be closed. **

**A crude map is on the back. My apologies, but we cannot provide you with any more information. **

**Also, keep your eyes peeled for more rebel activity in the vicinity. We believe there may be more sordid dealings nearby, but we cannot obtain conclusive evidence.**

**-General Ra'Karri, Elsweyri Confederate Military**

This sounded like nothing odd, just another job, another end to a handful of furry guerilla lives. The staff would likely come in handy, as usual. There was no obvious role for any animal parts, though I should check the map on the rear to be sure. I flipped over the letter.

The dwelling looked middle class: four rooms, the largest being the main one in front. I had a feeling a ball of fire right at the front door could smite a few evil-doers. And the explosion would open the way, which meant no need for a lock picker or ogre arms.

Yes, we could do this job clean, an opportunity we had been afforded a few times since uncovering the relic of M'Dazzir. We would not use up any more healing potion or crystal power. We would get on the task quicker and not pollute our bodies with narcotics.

Who would accompany me? No need for a lock picker. A ranged combatant might be useful for taking out the left overs, so Reesaka would be by my side. Another swordsmen was always a good precaution too; Jilheen was over due on an assignment. And an interpreter, incase a straggler surrendered and offered some interrogation? Sure, why not? S'Bassa would come along too.

There, we had our team. Enemy blood awaited us.


	51. Eye Catching

"When the two united in 309th year of the 2nd Era with the marriage of Kiergo of Anequina and Eshita of Pellitine, the two rulers fully recognized how historic their pact was, and renamed their land accordingly, to Elsweyr. The derivation of this unusual name has perplexed scholars. One commonly held rationale hinges on a particular Khajiit proverb that "a perfect society is always found elsewhere," suggesting that the new King and Queen had that aim, and that sense of humor. Another is that it is reference to Llesw'er, a paradise promised to the Khajiit by the Riddle'Thar. Either possibility points to an optimism which was not to be matched by reality." –Pocket Guide to the Third Empire, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Mid Year 18, 4E2**  
**

Ri'Kissa District, Torval

* * *

A jingling, heavily adorned noble bobbed past us on a Senche, a guard sitting behind him and another pair on his flank, with spears stuck proudly in the air.

It was a cloudy day. Near by was a condemned building with a beggar slumped against it. Most of the houses were small and unpainted. Many had cracked windows. Garbage was in the alleys. Elsweyr was Elsweyr.

It was hard to believe it, but this culture used to be the envy of manish and elven nations. But the Khnahaten Flu had dealt a blow the Khajiit had never, ever recovered from, even millenia later.

There was another large building nearby. It looked like a warehouse. And on its side was some graffiti. I could see my name and K'Raska's. Likely the message was unfavorable.

We had to turn right here. But I was starting to hear something emanating from that direction. A loud, distant voice. A street preacher? Probably. And no doubt mongering propaganda antithetical to my cause (the only kind he knew would not get his head sawn off). I would not ask S'Bassa to translate . His words could serve only to distract me. Though it was worth wondering how the demagogue and his crowd would react when I, the object of their affections, came strolling by. The corner was close, we were about to find out.

A dragonfly buzzed across the road.

And we turned the corner.

There was a Suthay-Raht on a crate. He had a gathering of about fifteen spectators, I would reckon. Already this Imperial had caught the eye of one of his fans. If I did not have the M'Dazzir's magnum opus in my hands, I might have feared for my safety in this situation. As it was, I walked ahead with resolve and hard eyes.

"It's him! Densius Fidelis! The one who brought all the terrorists here!" Yet another fad accusation. The scorn I was peppered with was becoming repetitive.**  
**

I did not say anything. I knew if I got fired up it would be cyclical. I had to keep my brain on the mission.

"Atz kalli kajji za hakzi corro!" I was glad that was not my language. I tried to keep blinders on my mind. It was probably something I should get used to.

"We waxed Do'Dara for your cowardly asses, and that's the thanks you give us?" Jilheen-Bolineena countered. _Oh gods. _Hearing this get debated would make it even more difficult to stay my tongue.

"You support Do'Dara before. You are hypocrite!" another shouted. And _that_ was becoming the most annoying mantra here, as if my meager transaction of Do'Dara was the most important piece information in Tamrielic record. _Pidgin Cyrodilic lout_. My heart was pounding.

I could not let myself boil over. I tried to direct this downward, to calm things.

He wanted to call me 'hypocrite'? Fine, I would throw him that bone, but "The value of hypocrites is that we're right half the time!" I yelled back. A bird cooed nearby, able to be at peace in this situation.

There was no immediate response. I wondered how long the silence would last. Though already I had a residual sick feeling.

"Arriss vaba gorro qian dazzirin na!"

I did not know what that meant, and was glad for that.

Trying to calm things further, I added, "I am just trying to help your people."

I could not see their expression in the far reaches of my view.

There was more silence. Maybe my words had had some effect. Maybe this was how to quiet them down...perhaps even move them.

"Bullshit!" a woman shouted through a thick accent right before I let my guard down. "You no want help us!" She was not going to let this die. _Dammit_

That activated her adjacent pahmar friend. "Do'Dara kept order!" he protested.

The stench of injustice was thick once again: Half the time they were vilifying me for giving the rogue General some coin, and the other half they were saying he was good for South Torval. And those two opinions were standing next to each other, shouting opposite realities, but never once thinking to turn towards each other.

It was another reminder of the affronts to reason I faced. If The Knights of New Elsweyr had supported Do'Dara in the name of the order he supposedly kept, declared ourselves an ally of a man who killed civilians on slight suspicions of the most minor infringements, there is no way we could have found any esteem. If I had claimed the Khajiit needed that kind of ludicrously heavy hand to keep them in line, I would have been seen as a horrible, despicable man, maybe even a racist.

Yet when I disposed of that same tyrant, he became retroactively accepted as a necessary evil.

Was this what Uriel felt like during his unpopular reign? No matter which way I turned, I ran into a wall, to be verbally savaged by the frustrated and hate thirsty locals.

If slaying such a man as Do'Dara was wrong, what the hell was _right_? What crueler lord had their been in Tamriel on the day of Do'Dara's death? And what more agreeable regime could have taken his place than a Mane? What leader could the Khajiit possibly agree on if not a man chosen by their own moons? Even we Cyrodiils did not have the honor of divine right in our government any longer.

If what I did here was _wrong_, could anyone name anything _right?_

Absurdity spat in my face, with its infuriating invincibility, and made me want to tear the very fabric of reality in front of me with white knuckles.

I had not hit back with words of my own. To explain it all to them, to throw my own predicaments back infront my face, likely only to have my pleas for sympathy rejected callously, would dig my mind deeper.

"Shukarik uru jalla vano hammilizad za thzitia nanatito enaff!"

And we passed them. I boiled privately, in silence. Little did they know, words stabbed me deeper than steel.

"You're all fools!" another civilian protested. "It's them that's committing all the crimes, using that fancy shape-shifter magic to look like us!"

Mother Mara, these idiots would latch onto anything! They would accept any idea as long as it made me look bad! My anger had crossed a line. I inhaled to speak...

But how could I counter that without talking about our secrets?

Perhaps that was the price of secrets. Powerful secrets, at least. Everything came back to bite me here. The price of power.

I felt rotten inside while my arms were nearly shaking. That crowd was everything that was wrong with this province and this Era, what burdened my crusade to a nearly crippling point, which should have been one of the most beloved endeavors in history.

I once had so many fantasies about being a hero here, about being cheered by the exotic looking men, about heartwarming exchanges of help, of unity and understanding between two peoples. But when things got tough, these locals turned their scorn not towards the perpetrators I was fighting, but to me.

The Empire saw me as a criminal too. _Densius Fidelis_: would that name ever be redeemed? Or rot in a fetid corner of history, only because the people _I fought_ were so thoroughly evil.

But then the preaching had started again, and that meant, in ironic show of mercy, the man on the soap box had recaptured their attention, and now they would leave me alone. That was a relief. Though I was still shaken.

We were coming close the corner. The next intersection would bring us on to Zsazi.

We turned it, and the street ahead was a more austere sight. Another beggar was slumped against a wall. From inside one of the nearby houses a husband and wife were shouting at each other. That was a more welcomed yelling than what I had just left.

We passed an old Nonarian chapel, a legacy of the Empire's occupation of this province twenty-seven years ago. The locals had succeeded in beating us once. But if they won this time, they would be burning down their own house just to blister our fingers.

Zazsi was perpendicular to us, and we would turn onto it leftwards. We would snuff out a handful of guerilla lives, as was frequently called upon on us, and then head back to the sanctuary. Since we did not have to worry about the sap and turning back, this assignment was not going to take up half our day (Jilheen-Bolineena had recently claimed the Hist Sap had started to "smell funny", though I could not tell a difference).

We were coming to kill the rebels, but people who preached their propaganda would remain without a scratch. It was a testament to our Cyrodilic morality, but it meant nothing to these people. Ironic that I never felt much anger towards the people I killed. Usually only those who spoke foul infuriated me.

And we arrived on Zazsi, even if my thoughts were lagging behind. House 42 was not far ahead. It looked as innocent as any other, but it contained mortal criminals.

This would be a quick, simple extermination. I could take out at least three with the staff, and we had one trained soldier for every hostile remaining.

A butterfly fluttered erratically in the distance.

We were at the house. The windows were closed, just like expected. I planted myself in front of the door. Now to position my men.

"Jilheen, by my side!" I commanded. "Reesaka, take position over there." I pointed a couple houses up the street.

He trotted into position.

S'Bassa got out of the immediate vicinity.

I looked back at the insurgent hideout. Were there anymore preparation to make? I scanned my mind, but only wisps of the dialogue from a few minutes earlier could be found. No more concerns. None. This would begin _now._

I made the fateful motion. The glowing fire came out of the staff and traveled.

It exploded upon the door with all its usual furiousity, a noise and sight that still moved me, as it enveloped an unknown number of guerillas in its fury.

When the hot gas cleared, I saw two giant skeletons fall right near the epicenter. Both Senches were finished! I felt a burst of satisfaction. Another skeleton sat on a crispy chair.

My mind immediately shifted to the remaining three. Now exposed was a bedroom, and a Suthay springing up from a nap and scrambling for where two archers had taken cover, the remains of a wall.

Reesaka's arrow pegged itself inconsequentially on the guerilla's path, and the hostile let lose a blast of frost. An arrow was then fired by one of the hostile bowmen. The three belligerents were at an angle out of my view now. Reesaka was taking too much heat. I dashed furiously to get to an angle to reinforce him.

Our eldest Argonian was already on the ground from dodging two mortal threats and I feared what the third might do.

As soon as I came into of the lines of sight of the three I could see another arrow being loaded and fired my staff desperately.

The magic sailed as I stood over the Black Marsh native like a guardian angel, the inferno his saving grace. But now I saw the spell would sail through a window, onto the outer wall of the neighboring house!_  
_

And it did sail through the window and burst. The ball exploded as I cringed inside. And when it cleared, all the hostiles had been sent to their searing deaths, but two charred skeletons fell in the other dwelling, one shorter than the other. _Shit._ I had taken two innocent lives with them, a mother and a child my intuition told me.**  
**

The battle was over, though I now felt extra self-conscious and my mind was less on the enemy and certainly finding no respite in victory.

Jilheen-Bolineena was unused, Reesaka was still on the ground. All the enemies were gone, but as was often the case when war magic was deployed, there were some unforeseen consequences: Another two innocents killed by my hands. **  
**

I turned to help our bowman to his feet. What did he think of my move? All this had been done in his name and for my lack of foresight.

How long would this haunt me? I _had_ killed innocents fighting against Do'Dara's forces, though. I had managed to put it behind me. We had done far worse to our own people in Cyrodiil's civil war, the War of the Red Diamond. We had killed plenty of non-combatants with war magic, burned plenty of crops, and suspended plenty of Cyrodilic liberties. And no one believed it was not worth the price.

I could not let these accidents get under my skin. I had to continue with my duties. We had to proceed as was routine. There were things to collect.

I walked towards the destruction, still crackling sullenly. The insurgents' weapon wrack had been burned away and all the devices were on the floor. Those would be our first pick ups, maybe our only ones.

My feet hit the ashen, black floor.

There was a metal axe, a scimitar, and Pellitinian daggers. A diverse collection, but uniform booty for us. First to cool it down, as the metal must have been searing hot.

I stopped and processed the familiar algorithms and let lose my hypothermal magic. It sizzled against the metal with a hearty burst of steam.

"Hey, Fidelis, take a butcher's at this." Jilheen said. He had forgotten the reverent 'sir', and his voice sounded crisp and happy, as if unmoved by the collateral damage we had witnessed. But none the less I came over.

He was holding something, an elaborately carved stone disk with a hole through the center. It looked like a neck piece. The designs on it were not angular and spicy like many from the lost jungle civilizations. They were curved, gentle, and abstract, like the ancient art of the desert north. I extended my hand to take it myself for closer examination, and he complied.

Yet looking at both sides, it appeared nothing special.

Maybe it had been someone's modest heir loom, or a cheap trinket from a general store in Annequina.

"Someone's necklace," I dismissed, dropped it in the ashes. The boy got distracted too easily...disturbingly easily given what he had witnessed by own hand to. I went walking through the soot to the cooled weapons.

I picked up the sword, then turned and said "Jilheen, you take the axe!" Then I turned around fully to Reesaka, who was keeping watch outside. "Reesaka, you get the daggers." And he walked to join us on the black floor.

Jilheen picked up the instrument he was assigned.

I wondered, was Jilheen really unmoved about the two civilians? Or maybe he had not seen the skeletons fall from his angle. But I knew he was not fond of the Khajiit. Still, did it go _that_ deep?

Reesaka got his soles on the black floor, feet padding the death-dust. And he walked up to me, past me, and then crouched down to pick up the dirty knives, putting them in his quiver.

Now we were ready, with our loot and six dead enemies. And, unfortunately, two dead innocents. As useful as the staff was, it had ugly side effects I had not previously been burdened with. I was not sure if I was more relieved or ashamed to get out of here, away from the scene of The Knights of New Elsweyr's crime, which another member of the family would likely return to.

I began walking, to get back into the fresh, clean, clear, undamaged realm.**  
**

Off I came from the soot floor, to make some black footprints on the untouched remainder of the world.

I had left poignant destruction in our wake. It was a new and ugly signature of the Knights of New Elsweyr**. **No longer did all of our victims deserve their fate.

We began heading back up the road: couple of distant figures, too fuzzy for me to make out more than their breed, were watching us. They were wondering what had happened, and fortunately I was far enough that I would not have to answer them. No doubt their conversations would be abuzz with the tragic, or enraging, news in a few minutes. At least I would not have to be there to hear it.

In fact, we were getting off this street very soon, which was a welcome feeling.

We turned the corner.

But there was something eye-catching far ahead.


	52. Chapel

"Come to me, AKATOSH, for without you, my resolution falters, and my pen is still and dry, though all the seas were full of ink, and the sky my parchment of dawn.

Come to me, TALOS, for without you, my Lord and Emperor springs from rootless dust, and the Empire is scattered before the winds of war and ignorance.

Come to me, JULIANOS, for without you, my wit is weak to sort the wheat from the chaff, and my eyes should neither know the true from the false, nor sense from folly, nor justice from prejudice and interest.

Come to me, KYNARETH, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in error, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures.

Come to me, ZENITHAR, for without you, like a child, I might fiddle and fret when only through struggle and labor may I craft a work worthy of your name and the name of my patron.

Come to me, STENDARR, for without you, I might be deaf to the manswarm murmurings of thy people, and forgetting their need for comfort and wisdom, I might indulge myself in vain scribbling.

Come to me, MARA, for without you, I might forget the ways of our fathers, and preening by the light of latest fashion, my words might tremble like the thin reeds of novelty in the tempest of enthusiasms.

Come to me, DIBELLA, for without you, my words must lie dull and leaden without the gilding of grace and sagacity to enchant the reader's ear and eye.

Come to me, ARKAY, for without you, there is neither breath nor beginning, nor can any man live, love, or learn without the spark of your spirit.

" -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Mid Year 18, 4E2

Ri'Kissa District, Torval

* * *

It was a diverse group of warriors, well armed and armored, being led by a caped, bearded Altmer, and in the middle was an unarmed, familiar looking female Argonian.

No. Could it really be_ her_? It seemed surreal.

They were heading into the church we had passed on the way here. The leader was fishing through his pocket for a key. I did not have the slightest idea who he and the thugs were. None of their weapons were at bare, but I got the sense Soch-Eena was a prisoner, even if she was not visibly bound. But what could they possibly be here for? And would they know who _I_ was? Good thing none of them were looking my way.

The elf found his key and unlocked the door, and they all poured in, one with a helmet closing the it behind them.

Why would she be here? I could hardly believe what I had just beheld. Was it really her? I would be positive it was if not for the context. And who the hell were her captors?

Armed men meeting anywhere but a barracks or a Fighters Guild Hall was rarely a good sign. No doubt they were somehow involved with the wrong crowd.

My subordinates...did they think they saw what I saw, or was I simply going mad?

Reesaka only stared with a stereotypical, neutral Argonian expression. I swung my head the other way and looked at Jilheen-Bolineena. His expression was more receptive, mouth slightly agape.

I said, "That was Soch-Eena! You remember, the girl who -"

"Hell yeah I remember! Look's like she's being arrested or something!" That was an awkward way to put it.**  
**

"Not by any legitimate authority. And Colonel Orius said she was operating -"

"In the West Weald. Yeah." Jilheen had been paying quite a bit of attention to her. A fit, petite Argonian girl probably stuck out like a sore thumb to a troop of scaly, sexually deprived males.

"But why-" I began.

"No idea, bud."

I looked back at the now empty streets. What was going on in that chapel? This day had been hijacked.

"We need to check this out." I said with stern resolve. The Leyawiinite gave a nod and I turned and start walking hard in the direction of the building. My mind was rushing, but not getting any answers. But what an insult it was for our enemies to use an old Nonarian place of worship as their liar!

The doors would be locked and I had not brought Collect-Rocks. Still, there were other ways to gain access: As much as I loathed to expend more charge, I could blow opened the doors. And there were the windows: hopefully the divines could look the other way if I smashed their effigy to gain entrance.

Neither was subtle, though, and there would be at least four hostiles in the building. And what would they do with Soch-Eena if they saw me coming? There was the risk they would kill her (I really needed to make a habit of bringing more of my team for every mission, even if they were not all augmented). But if I did nothing, they might torture information from her.

Three front doors just like in Skingrad. The hostiles might or might not be in the main chamber (they could have gone to the undercroft, if it had one, like the chapel back home).

I slowed to a stop. Three doors. Three times three was nine. Was that the thinking behind the design? It did not matter now.

The doors were the most obvious form of entrance. Using the windows would give anyone within earshot ample time to prepare as we broke a large enough hole in the glass. The simplest solution was the best.

But what about the risk to Soch-Eena?

The only reason they would capture her would be for interrogation or some kind of bargaining rights, whoever they were. The former could be catastrophic to the Fourth Era if they succeeded, and her allegiance to our Empire was already shaky. The risks were too great to worry about anything else. Even if there were some dangers to her, I had to stuff those feelings away.

So I would blow opened the doors, and just pray inside she would survive the impending chaos.

"We're going in," I said simply without looking back, and then emotionlessly started moving to a firing position.

The rabble rouser around the corner was still preaching, I noticed, but he was hardly my primary focus right now, just atmospheric background noise.

And I planted my feet. I turned to the others. But there was one more thing I needed to know before deciding on our initial positions...

"Jilheen, you went to your local chapel back in Leyawiin, right?" I would be surprised to see a man in the Legion neglecting the Nine.

"Yeah," he said. Good.

"And it looked a lot like this one, right?"

"Exactly."

"And was there a basement, an undercroft, in it?"

"Yeah." Our experiences lined up so far.

"And the stairs...were they surrounded by...like...a st-a low stone wall on three sides?" I hoped he knew what I meant with that clumsy description.

"Yeah." Good.

"I think its called a banister." Either way, that term would work. "Look, here's what we're going to do: I shoot opened the door. We pour in, and we all take cover behind the banister. I'll give the remaining orders from there depending on the enemy positions."

Then I looked to the quieter of the two. "Reesaka, over here." I directed him a bit ahead of me and to my right. "Jilheen, over _here_." I pointed him a bit behind and to my left.

They moved. They planted themselves

Those were the preparations.

I looked back at the fateful doors, which I would incinerate.

This could being whenever I decided.

It was a tense prospect, what we were about to do. There were so many unknowns. But now was as good a time as any.

I jerked the staff downward and a ball of fire, defiant to calm, cloudy day, flew forward. This was the third time today we were deploying the staff's power.**  
**

And it hit the wood with its marvelous explosion. No keys for us, we made a barbarian's entrance. We charged as it dissipated, eyes on the banister where the battle for the precious girl would begin.

And as we rushed under the stone arch, magically warmed air against our faces, the persons occupying the main chamber were clear. There were three . Two catwomen getting up from a table, and one Altmer with a beer mug, who looked to be the one in charge by his more expensive dress. Their faces were stunned and their hands flew into the air. We stopped.

The other men must have indeed been below. Conflict would be delayed. These three might be guerrillas, but at the moment they were not looking to fight. This was a relief.

I marched closer to them with heavy steps, around the banister. The women were dressed somewhere between "peasant" and "commoner", but both wore pants, implying a value for mobility. The Altmer, who was a bit short for his race I noticed, wore clothing that looked middle class.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" My voice was level, but stern.

They were unresponsive. The elven man's lips moved just a bit, and flash of intuition told me he did know Cyrodilic and was holding back.

I kept a hot gaze on him and began working my way closer.

I could feel their fear grow as I got nearer. Only the elf had a weapon: a dagger on his hip, but no apparent intention of using it.

He looked young, but not fresh out of adolescence. He bore a little bit of stubble.

I assumed the women were covered by my subordinates.

I stopped in front of him, close enough to see his two front teeth peaking out from his upper lip**. **He was still not speaking.

I would show him I meant business, make this overwhelming for him. I reared the wooden weapon back as a cudgel and smacked him solidly in the jaw, knocking him to the floor. It was the first time I had hurt someone in cold blood, but I fell into the routine well enough; I turned off all compassion and focused on the objective: acquiring information for this complete mystery.**  
**

He looked up with mouth agape and a bloody lip, breathing getting heavier. Then, in a voice as hard as iron, I asked again:

"Who. Are. You."

His lips twitched wordlessly.

To keep the pressure on him, I kicked him with moderate strength in the soft flesh of his stomach. It produced little more than a cough-like grunt.**  
**

I reeled back for another.

"I am...we are..."

This was getting me somewhere! My gaze continued, hot, stern, and unflinching.

"Go on."

He quickly spat out the rest. "You do not know us. We are...mercenaries. Hired for...unknown bidder." Conveniently vague. He could be lying. But Soch-Eena might be a better source of information, and they might start torturing her for their own questions any minute (whatever those might be), so it was time to shift topics.

"Where did you take her?" Though I realized that was a stupid inquiry; There was only one place to go in a chapel.

"The basement!" he cried. "I have key."

In his undignified position he reached into a pocket, removed it, and then propped himself up. I extended my free hand. With tender eyes and cautious expression, he dropped it in my palm. I grasped the metal.

I had what I wanted from him. No need for any more pain. I stepped back with both mercy and swagger. Then I swept the entire crowd with my gaze. The Khajiit ladies' remained fearful, but collected.

Now what to do about this trio?

Taking prisoners was too risky, but I had concluded a while back, after fulfilling my pledge to meditate on this issue, that it was a mighty interest for word of "Densius the Merciful" to spread. I would let them leave.

"Get out of here." I said with a tone of disgust. S'Bassa translated. We had provided them with a special exit too, the burned doorway, which served as a poignant reminder of our powers.

Indeed, still seeming a little dazed, they all began walking, the Altmer's slightly hunched with a hand on his gut.

Assuming my subordinates were keeping eyes on them, I glanced around the rest of the chapel. The pews had been cleared to make room for the table upon which playing cards were splayed. Arkay's effigy had been desecrated with some blue paint. The good guys were going to have the last laugh here, however.

I turned to the stairs down. It was indeed laid out like Skingrad. The undercroft would be our next theater, though the doors were not currently in view.

My men were still supervising the departure of the belligerents, so I waited. Perhaps my Western softness was biasing me in the decision to spare them, yet image was important in war, this one especially.

As soon as the last guerrilla turned the corner, I said "C'mon," and began walking down the stairs. They followed.

Trotting down the steps, I wondered what the undercroft would look like: that had been a childhood curiosity in Skingrad. There had been two doors at the bottom to the undercroft in the Skingrad chapel, but I did not know if they led to the same chamber.

I hit the bottom and turned left.

Would they be right at the entrance? I stopped near the door and listened...

But I could hear nothing on the other side.

I looked to our archer and whispered sharply. "Reesaka, head to the other door and see if you can hear something." I caught a glance of S'Bassa, too, and realized I would have to decide what to do with him.**  
**

The Black Marsh native jogged over, stopped, and put his ear to it as we kept the air silent and still.

He looked back and shook his head.

I beckoned him to return. The fact that we could not hear anything suggested they would not be immediately at either entrance. This meant we might be able to get in without them noticing.

_S'Bassa._ Even if battle would not meet us right at the entrance, I felt more comfortable with our interpreter staying back. "S'Bassa, stay here. I'll call on you if I need you."

The Colovian nodded.

As for the rest of us...

_We're going in. Again._

I put the staff back on my back and unsheathed my sword. I turned to the door that stood between The Knights of New Elsweyr and our next area of operation. If we would not be seen, we might as well not be heard either, so I put the key in the lock softly and turned it.

The lock clicked, and then I began pushing the door opened, slowly and quietly.

A figure with an axe was visible from the sliver opened, and it felt like a thousand needles shot from my face. But he did not attack. I bashfully opened the door the rest of the way at a prompt pace, as if I could overwrite the previous, odd demeanor.

He was one of the men I had seen enter, Soch-Eena's guards. He looked like a High Elf now that I could see his face. I felt hot, hopefully not blushing. But the fact that I had come through a locked door was enough to convince him I was not an intruder, apparently. Or at least he was divided on that issue. He brought his axe was at bare but he did not aggress.

"Who are you?" he asked huskily. His accent was Colovian, not foreign. I tried to keep cool.

"One of the new recruits," I said, quickly making up an admirably vague and versatile answer.

"New recruits? Meandil-"

"Bealor!" Echoed a voice from an auxiliary wing, to the left and down a sloping corridor "What the _hell_ is going on up there?"

The shaggy mercenary looked over to answer. I knew what cover we had was about to end, and I knew this was an opportunity.

I charged forward, towards the vulnerable hulk, and decapitated him, bringing the dangerous warrior to a blessedly quick death.

I whirled towards where the other voice had come.

At the bottom of the hallway was the caped leader. He moved to cast and I lunged out of the way as lightening flew and stung the stone behind me with an ominous sizzle. As I was on the ground, my brothers got ahead.

Jilheen pressed himself against the wall, between a coffin shelf and the passage, and Reesaka, bow primed, stepped into the hostile's line of fire to release a shot of his own. But it sounded like it missed.

And then I heard a noise I had not heard in a very long time.

"Clannfear!" shouted Reesaka as he pedaled away. Conjuration!

I knew of these scaly beasts! My unit had killed two in Dune. The big headed bipeds could horribly damage to flesh.

I scrambled to get on my feet, but the demon creature had made its way up, eyes on my armorless comrade. Was I about to lose another brother?**  
**

As it bent its small legs, I saw Jilheen-Bolineena dive at it. And just as its legs became airborne, and my heart skipped a beat, the Leyawiinite grasped its feet.

They both landed. It screeched vigorously, and Jilheen got up in an amazing display of abdominal strength and got back behind cover in one fluid motion as the creature thrashed dangerously close to his thighs. He reeled back and slammed the creature's head against the bricks with a cringe worthy crack. Yet the beast continued to squirm, and Jilheen reeled even further back and then swung forward with all his mite, eyes bulging.

And this time the brutal hit produced a 'pop.' The creature went silent and limp, the Argonian dropping it as it returned to Oblivion. But his pant leg was dampening with blood.

Summoning a clannfear was a terrifying power, and the elf would likely be able to do it again. He needed to be killed quickly or we were all dead.

Taking initiative, I charged. I knew this was tremendously dangerous, funneling myself through a narrow passage right in an enemy line of fire, but I bounded down the narrow hallway, with perhaps a fifty-percent chance of death, looking the mighty elf in his dark eyes. This could be the last dash of my life, killed in action, but my mind was bereft of fear.

His was not: the bearded man was backing up. It looked like I would actually survive this.

I was close.

I impaled him.

A solid and lethal stab through the gut, I took the sword out and immediately turned to intercept a swing from one of the armored hostiles. In a move that impressed even be, I rolled back into the hallway, reorienting and regaining my footing. That removed the advantage provided by their numbers, forcing them to take me on one at a time.

The sneer faced Imperial advanced while his comrade, a Bosmer, stood in aggressive posture right behind him.

But I heard some commotion to the rear and left both, hits and cries. I could hear a body fall, and as the Bosmer turned, Soch-Eena came into the scene and put on a martial arts display I could not fully comprehend. What mattered is it caught the other man's attention.

As the Imperial turned to the new threat, I immediately took the opportunity to stab him through the neck.

Metal pierced soft flesh. The once intimidating man dropped his weapon with a clatter and fell to his knees.

My old comrade finished off the Bosmer with a neck-snap, while the Imperial let out his last breath as he fell on his face.

In a small burst of chaos and finesse, Soch-Eena and I had dispatched three or four mighty fighters. In a minute, the fearsome had been made irrelevant and my pounding heart slowed.

I felt a great sense of relief and accomplishment, the cold sweat in my hair the last vestige of the danger. Now it was time to talk to my old friend, my partner from Black Marsh, and find out what the hell she was doing in my city.


	53. Familiars

"PERSONAL FILES: SOCH-EENA

This material is CLASSIFIED LEVEL HOPE-BRINGER. Distribution and viewing of files to personnel below said clearance will have harsh disciplinary consequences.

File Draft #: 3

Age: 20

Sex: Female

Height: 5'0

Race: Argonian

Health Concerns: None

Psychological Concerns: Spent entirety of childhood engrossed in criminal and anti-Imperial organizations. FIDELITY TO THE EMPIRE is questionable. Transition out of underworld into legitimate career was likely highly STRESSFUL.

Bearing a name that translates most closely to "Swims-the-Shores" (though this was not her ORIGINAL NAME, which is in actuality FEEKAVA-TAKEEUS and what she is referred to in most DARK BROTHERHOOD documents). This young Argonian woman has been both a great source of CONCERN and SUCCESS for the Empire's goals. A former sister of the Dark Brotherhood, she was given to the murderous cabal after rigorous training under the ARGONIAN ROYAL COURT during her youth. While under their authority she, according to confession, assassinated IMPERIAL LEGION COMMANDER ADAMUS PHILIDA and LEYAWIIN CITY WATCH CAPTAIN CAELIA DRACONIS. However, for reasons relating to personal ethical epiphany, she DEFECTED FROM THE ORDER, killing several high ranking members including wanted criminals LUCIEN LACHANCE, and BELISARIUS ARIUS.

She was pardoned for her crimes in exchange for assisting the Empire in operations in CENTRAL BLACK MARSH, which led to the so called "OPENING OF BLACK MARSH" and SECOND SLOAD WAR.

She is currently participating in OPERATION PROTOTYPE, serving along with LONG-TAIL in the West Weald, participating in operations against 'THE GOLDEN MILITIA', 'THE NATIVES', and the so-called 'OLIN CABAL.'

She has NO OFFICIAL LEGION TRAINING but is HIGHLY SKILLED with small blades and martial arts and moderately skilled with swords and bows. She possesses highly refined SHADOW POWERS and skills operating STEALTHILY in urban, wilderness, and interior environments."

-_Imperial Legion Files, Personal Files: Soch-Eena_

Mid Year 18, 4E2

Chapel Undercroft, Ri'Kissa District

* * *

"Thanks," she said, looking a bit to the side with a small smile, rubbing her elbow. The girl was never a very gushy one.

"No problem." We had been a team down here, again, even if very briefly, in a different place and against a different enemy. But she had completely captivated my day, out of the blue. "What in Oblivion are you doing here? Who were those guys?" It was just dumb luck I had been able to rescue her, had caught sight of her. But I could not recall when I had last faced such a yawning chasm of bafflement and ignorance.

"We're not sure. The Cyrodiils were clearly hired blades, nothing more. The foreigners were working for an organization called 'The Natives.' You heard of it?"

A terrorist organization haunting my childhood home, yes. How poetic.**  
**

"Yeah," I responded. "Never heard what is is they're after, though." And why were they here?

Some footsteps made me turn to see the other two coming down, Reesaka supporting Jilheen-Bolineena, who had a shirt wrapped around his lacerated leg. A little blood had seeped through, but clearly the damage was not mortally threatening.

I looked back to Soch-Eena, who continued:

"They fight on behalf of elven immigrants to Skingrad." That description was a bit too sterile for my tastes, not that I really knew any better. "It seemed that a substantial number were being trained by some foreigners, mostly from Summerset Isles. They captured me during some reconessiance work. Now I'm starting to think this 'syndicate' stretches further than we imagined."

This was a bit much to wrap my head around.

"By 'syndicate' you mean the foreign elves who were providing training to 'The Natives.'"

"Yeah," she responded.

So Soch-Eena had been investigated 'The Natives' and learned that they were being trained by outsiders. And they captured her, and the same foreigners who were aiding 'The Natives' had brought her here.

I had suspected there was something big happening in Torval with all the mer sightings. Now it was looking even bigger than big, stretching from here to Colovia. But why would those two interests be tied? Just to be a thorn in Cyrodiil's side? And...

"Why did they bring you here? Did they say?"

"I think they wanted the two of us together." What did that mean?

"What, why?" It was flattering I meant that much to the enemy, whoever they were, but...

"They didn't say." She glanced around. "Probably so they could match up our information. Tell when one of us was lying."

_Match up our information_? What information? Maybe where I got my special, transformative powers. Where both of us had gotten them. That made sense...unfortunately. I still had not fully wrapped my head around who these people were. Did _she_ know?

"And you really have no idea who they are?"

"We don't have any leads," she said simply. "We didn't know they were operating in Pellitine too, although we were aware of some crossborder operations launched from Riverhold."

This was darkly intriguing. And they wanted _me_. That part was disturbing. I shuddered inside at the thought of getting captured with the information I had. Facing the torturer's knife brought so many questions that I did not want ever answered. Had I not taken into account the secrets I was putting in danger by being here? Gods forbid that kind of information fell into the wrong hands...and all because of one rogue twenty-three year old playing paladin.

"Cyrodiil has a new enemy," I said simply.

"Yeah. When the Empire hears these belligerents are operating as far as Torval, maybe they'll ramp up the investigation into who these guys really are." Yes, but whatever they found out, they would not share with me. Soch-Eena might learn. I would remain in the dark until I found out on my own.

But so lost in this enigma, I had nearly forgotten a more immediate concern: what would we do with her? What did _she_ intend to do? I had not really thought about that.

"Where are you going now? Head back to County Skingrad?" And then there was the possibility of her helping here, although it was a heavy request, for her to go rogue like me. "How much do you know about..." I realized this could get a little awkward and felt some shame burning in my gut, "what I've been...doing in Pellitine?"

"Not much. But I thought the Empire left Elsweyr." She said it in such a non-chalant tone. And she was right.

This was not a typical confession. It was heavy on my chest. I had needed to admit to biting my cousin at eight years old. This was far more grandiose.**  
**

"They did," I said, feeling my gut tighten. "The Empire and I aren't on...good terms right now."

"Imagine that," she said dryly. It took me a second to get where she was coming from, but I remembered her past and laughed. The former outlaw's love for the Empire probably still lacked a strong fiber, and that was sort of an odd relief. It did not dissolve all the embarrassment, but a good deal of it.

I continued more comfortably. "When Ocato recalled the troops, I refused to leave, as did most of my unit, so we're technically deserters. But we've been fighting the guerillas on our own and even had some contact with the Mane and his right-hand General."

"The Mane?" she inquired. It had not even occurred to me she might not know who that was.

"The leader here. Elsweyr's king, or the closest thing it has to one." Did she know anything about the conflict here? Were the Renrijra Krin and Ri'Kissa's Front and Rathor Gang mere names to her. Even that?

And the Black Marsh native did not have a response, and there was not a clear place for the conversation to go. She looked off to the side neutrally. Would she join us?

I realized I had not _offered_ her to join yet, only confessed what I had done. I tensed at the thought of asking, the fear of rejection and gravity of the request. But, like the soldier I was, I exercised courage:

"We could always use more help." Though the words seemed to burn my mouth, as I was asking her to become a renegade right after her redemption. My gut tightened.

She looked down and sort of put her fingers on her forehead. The anticipation nearly froze my bones.

"Densius..." she began, almost pleadingly. Where was this going? I listened ever so closely, primed as a bow. Then she looked up. "I don't...I don't know much about the politics here."

My mood leveled a bit. Not a refusal, or compliance, and a valid point. I let out some breath.

"That's...understandable. But there are some very evil men here." Might she really come on onboard, desert like I was surprised even _we_ had?

"I..." she started, sounding slightly pained. I listened close enough to hear the air hum in my ears. "I would need to know more than just your side of the story."

That was understandable, but the enemy's side of the story was so morally bankrupt I worried she might not believe I was telling it all. To someone new to politics it would probably be hard for her to accept anyone fought against and died against and protested what we were trying to do here. Likely she had yet to be infected with the kind of cynicism that contaminated the Arcane University, the Summerset Isles, the Fourth Era Pundit, and, more now than ever, Cyrodilic commoners.

"Look, what do you say we talk about it over lunch?" I proposed. I was already becoming enthusiastic about the prospect of adding her to the team. Sweet feelings were flowing through my veins "I can take you back to the ruin we've been taking refuge in." A well trained assassin would be a great asset! With the Hist sap, she would be an absolute terror!

"I..." she began. Suspense clenched me. "I guess I don't see why not. I'll stop by for lunch, at least."

My spirit rose. "Excellent!" My mind already started racing through the chat to come. "Let's see what we can find on these bodies and then we'll head back!"

There were three corpses in sight, and I believed the girl had killed one more out of view.

"Soch-Eena, you search the armored men," I ordered, then turned to my male compatriots. "Jilheen, search the headless merc upstairs." Fittingly easy. "Reesaka, you search the remainder of the undercroft. I'll search the...unarmored bodies."

This was a duty to get out of the way, and with fresh spirits it would be done quickly and efficiently, while Soch-Eena and I's impending conversation sang in the back of my mind.

The girl went for the Bosmer, making way for me to head to the High Elf I had impaled. I stepped over the Imperial I had stabbed to inspect the bearded mer.

The caped man was in respectable garb (although it was all soaked in blood). There was some paper in his right pocket, folded. I took it out and opened it. A map of Elsweyr...nothing unusual about it. I dropped it in the crimson pool and its edges shriveled.

He had a dagger on his hilt too (apparently he was a lefty); That was loot, so I removed it. I patted his contralateral pocket, and felt some solid material. Rubbing the fabric to get an idea of the shape, I could tell it was coins. I reached my fingers in the tight cloth and dug them out. One fell in the blood, which made it not worth retrieving, though the tokens in hand were worth thirty drakes. I pocketed them, then rather disrespectfully flipped him over to look for any pockets on the rear. None.

While the former outlaw continued with mercenaries behind me, I turned to whoever she had killed first.

It was a female, another Bosmer, but of middle age, with a pony-tail, apron, and an empty tool belt. I went over and searched for pockets. When I found nothing, I similarly flipped her over. There were pockets on her ample rear, I felt them. Nothing. I stood up and turned to check on the ex-Shadowscale, but as I did, I caught the sight of some tools on the coffin shelf: tongs, surgical knives, pliers; Instruments of torture, probably. What a good thing I had saved the Argonian!

Soch-Eena finished up.

"Nothing on them," she said simply. **  
**

"Then let's go help the others up stairs." I turned and began ascending. Meanwhile, my mind chimed of our impending lunch, of persuading her to join my side and a lot of catching up to do, once we were back at the sanctuary. And to think this was all from blind chance; If I had started today's assignment one minute later, she would be tied to the chair right now, in the depths of hell.

Topside, Jilheen-Bolineena was standing at attention. "Nothing on him, sir."

Reesaka was probably searching the other wing, down the hall way across from us. But looking around I saw there was a weapon wrack with a couple of sabers and a longbow.

I could grab the two sabers- no, Soch-Eena needed a weapon, I realized. Soch-Eena could take one of the swords. I could take one saber and the long bow (leaving me comically armed to the teeth, given I already had a meric dagger and the sword I arrived with holstered, as well as the staff on my back).

I looked to the Black Marsh native to give the order, but Jilheen had just started chatting with her.

"So you were in Skingrad, right?" he asked. His demeanor was a bit softer than usual. Maybe because of his injury, or maybe because he was flirting.

"The general area," she responded.

Taking advantage of the half second lull that followed, I commanded, "Soch-Eena, take a sword." I pointed. And we both started heading to the wrack.

She went for the saber in the middle. I went for the peripheral devices, though made sure to get the melee weapon in my right hand. Now, carrying so much junk, I was quite weighed down. If there was anything valuable upstairs, I would likely drop something.

Reesaka was ascending from the other wing. As his face and body bobbed up into view, I could see he was carrying a cloth sack and a bottle. The sack seemed to contain coin, but the bottle was not labelled. Maybe we could find an alchemist to give it a sniff test.

We seemed to have covered the entirety of the undercroft. Now was time to leave.

"Jilheen, do you need any help walking?"

"No, I'm good," he responded. He lacked his usual vigor, but I took his word. We would see how he would hold up. Although I was no fan of heading through a hot zone with one of my men radiating vulnerability, we were a large and well armed crowd.

I headed towards the same door we had entered through. Jilheen-Bolineena seemed to be limping a bit, but he was moving.

Would there be anything precious upstairs, or had we discovered all this place's treasures? There might be some intelligence, though hopefully it was not written in Aldmeris; Though come to think of it, might there be a language tutor we could hire for translation? We were able to operate openly now, after all.

We exited, back in the first theater. S'Bassa had been waiting for us, having missed all the action and looting, but knew to come along as we went up the steps.

And then there was a strange, sharp, whirling noise and fleshy splat and the ex-Shadowscale fell to her hands and knees with something in her back. Everything had changed.

I whipped around to see a blur take off. I did not know anything except, at a visceral level, what to do, running up the stairs just in time to see the hostile winding the corner. The colors of his attire did not lie: It was the elf I had spared!

I jumped mantled myself over the banister. He had mortally wounded my friend, maybe killed her! He had taken advantage of mercy! I would chop him to pieces! On my feet, dropping the bow and readying my frost spell, academia meeting feral aggression, I ran and wound the corner he had, seeing the world in tunnel vision.

The target was not ahead on the streets so again I swirved leftward, with gruesome, furious thoughts, speeding towards the chapel's graveyard.

My feet met the grass.

I looked around, but unless he was a damn good contortionist he was not hiding among the tombstones.

There were a three alleys he could have gone through. I dashed for the first one. I lept over a wine bottle, but saw nothing ahead. I came back onto the street of the propagandist, and darted my gaze around furiously. The preacher's flock was still there, as he ranted against a man who had just seen his friend mortally injured from his own mercy, obnoxiously salting my wound. But no where could my target be seen.

And there were so many backstreets, so many places to disappear. And looking at the crowd in the street hard and thoroughly he could not be hiding amongst _them_. I was getting the feeling this was futile, even though I quaked with rage.

Soch-Eena's medical care was a better channel for my efforts, her life was on the line. The others had to be doing something, but I began racing back, this time on the sidewalk, almost stepping on a rat. She was a friend, an asset, and a hero. She could not die if I had anything to do about it!

I whipped around the corner again, the chapel that had captured this day and so much more back in view. I wound back around to go through the staff marked doorway, and stopped myself, with ample momentum, against the banister.

The girl was on all fours, coughing and wheezing as S'Bassa's hands sandwiched her, one pressed hard on her wound (the reddened dagger had been discarded to the side) and another supporting her from beneath. **  
**

Reesaka was dashing around the main chamber madly.

"I don't see anything!" he cried. It was the first time I had heard him use such a tone.

I was priming my muscles when suddenly the girl collapsed, falling down and causing the interpreter to do some of the same.

"Soch-Eena!" I cried. Though it was more of a call to the divines than to her.


	54. Melancholy, Anger, and Worry

"As their name suggests, the Dark Brotherhood has a history shrouded in obfuscation. Their ways are secret to those who are not Brothers of the order (Brothers is the generic term: some of the deadliest of the assassins are female, but they are called Brothers as well)." - Brothers of Darkness

Mid Year 24, 4E2

Mess Hall, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

I looked over my quad of cards. One Jack, two nines, and an eight. A pretty unremarkable hand. I put down the Jack. Jilheen flipped them all over. Ah-Marz took the pool with his Queen.

"So did she ever tell you about her time in the Dark Brotherhood?" Ah-Marz asked. The deceased Argonian heroine had not been a path we had taken the conversation into lightly. It was the first time since the day of her death and makeshift funeral (echoing Rizzani's) that we were rehashing my old memories.

"No," I said. "We never talked about it." It seemed like her murderous past would be a painful and awkward subject. Sort of like this was now...

Maybe one day we would meet again in Aetherius, but being of more scientific mind I leaned towards the dream-sleeve theory.

I submitted my nine. The game seemed more like idle toil than play with the grim subject.

Jilheen-Bolineena turned them all over. Ah-Marz had slyly withheld his King, and Jilheen had fallen right into his trap. Well played, though it was hard to feel much more than a flinch of acknowledgement given the morose atmosphere. He swept them into his pile with a tastefully nuetral face. The other Argonian began dealing again.

The elf who had killed Soch-Eena was still out there, working for an enemy no one in The Knights of New Elsweyr could properly identify. At least she had died after the honor of bestowing me a little more information on the villians.

The Leyawiinite's dealing, still fast despite the gloomy subject matter, was finished. I looked at my cards.

"You know what one of the locals told me on that mission yesterday?" He was changing the subject. That was fine; For now, Soch-Eena's legacy had been an exhausted matter. I examined my cards. It looked like my best bet was an Undercut. I put down my three.

"What?" Ah-Marz inquired while he submitted his own unknown card.

Jilheen put his into the pool.

"He said we were the ones who destroyed Jar'Tain." Elsweyr's corruption ridden border town. What the hell? Two major questions flew to mind.

"Destroyed Jar'Tain!?" When was Jar'Tain destroyed? How?

"You didn't hear about the storm?" Jilheen asked.

"No." But the local was accusing us of sending it!? I knew my emotions were about to head to a very different place. My heart was already beating harder.

"There was some bad tropical wind storm along that part of the coast, fetched up shit real bad."

"Why the hell would we send a storm?" _And how the hell would we send a storm?_ Anger was coming to overtake my previously somber mind.

He flipped the pieces of paper over emotionlessly, outwardly unaffected by the topic, and chortled. "I asked the same thing." My pulse hastened.**  
**

Ah-Marz had submitted Jack, Jilheen a ten, and me a three. My undercut was a success, but I could feel little joy as I swept up the pile.

"Why did he _say _we did it?" Though maybe it was foolish to journey deeper into this topic; It would take a while to cool down after what I had heard already. **  
**

"He said we were trying to cover up shady dealings or some such." I was half stunned at how far these accusations could go, and half infuriated. This topic was mind poison for me, a fiery vortex that would suck me further and further to its core, but...maybe anger was a good alternative to melancholy.

"With who!?" Although on second thought I was probably angry enough. Anger meant restlessness.

The Jilheen picked his card and submitted it.

"Hell if I know. He just thought if we were in Jar'Tain, we must have been making some." _Mother Mara._ "His buddy agreed with him too."

My blood boiled, and I looked down at my hand with a distant mind and for the first time I made a random choice, now not caring about the game at all. There was foul fury deep in my guts and bones at these self-deluded maniacs.

It was that kind of rhetoric and insanity that got so many good people killed here. I imagined a shouting match with that bastard.

But as much as my outrage, what could I retort? We already had a staff that could destroy buildings with a simple thrust and devices that could turn us into chimera. Who was to say this secretive cabal of terrors did not have some storm making trinket hidden in this dark sanctuary?

But no, it sounded like a mad man's raving. It_ must_ have been a ridiculous theory. My intuition screamed as much, and my intuition was rarely wrong. There had to be some way to refute his accusation right beneath my nose...

Or maybe not. Perhaps that was the frustrating, damning price of hoarding so many secrets, of having all the best and enigmatic magics on your side. The price of power.

But surely that was a laputan way to cover up-

There was noise. Not loud, but not subtle either. Some muffled yelling...sounding like it was coming from the ruin. Here was something new to think about.

I looked at the others' faces. They seemed to have heard it too. My affect had yet another place to go.**  
**

"Someone's at the entrance," I said.

Who could they be? This was an ominous question. It was not the Mane's courier. Yet again my emotions would get tugged to another realm. This time...worry.**  
**

I pushed out my chair. "Jilheen, get armed. Ah-Marz, alert the others. We'll gather infront of the door."

We quickly moved to do our parts. The muffled shouting came again. It sounded like a lone man, but of course that could be deceit. Our enemies could have found us. This could be, at long last, the lion at our door, our apocalypse so long anticipated in the back of my mind?

Stomping out into the hallway, the others would soon also be in combat readiness too, albeit not by my word.

I burst through the armory entrance and, from the plethora of weapons, grabbed a Pellitinian saber, then immediately turned back out. What lied behind that slab of bricks, only its descent could reveal.

Newly equipped and back in the hall, I positioned myself next to the lever. Behind me, I could hear the others, led by Ah-Marz, heading into the armory for their own tools. My mind was raced over what forms could occupy the other side: Twenty rebel barbarians gathered for the pull of our lever? Though even that number would have difficulty getting through so funneled, and it would be a bloody fight.

I turned as my men emerged back into the corridor with their weapons.

"Dagger Formation!" I commanded and they positioned themselves as I turned back to the fateful door.

The softened shouting came again, but this time I was close enough to pick out some of its intricacies. I could make out my name at the beginning. It was saying a long sentence. And it did not sound like a Khajiit, but rather...a Nibenean. But that was too light a matter to let my guard down over

Yet if this was the enemy at our gates, the voice was no doubt meant to lore me. Did I have to comply? Maybe I should not play into their plan. Maybe I could convince them they were wrong about our locale? But they might not be convinced, and then we might confront them at a time unknown, outside. They might decide to set up a camp in our vicinity and await our emergence. Facing them in this narrow passageway was optimal.**  
**

But...

But nothing. Putting off this fight was naturally attractive, but whatever was on the other side, we would face it now. Strange but familiar feelings flowed through my arms, my body imbued with sensitivity and a sense of purpose, as these muscles and joints would determine who lived and died. **  
**

Was it time?

It was time. If there was to be a battle at our doorstep, it would be now. No reason to reminisce further.

I pulled the lever, the sound as harsh as breaking glass in midnight. The stone door started falling. My blood bubbled with adrenaline.

At first there was nothing, just the upper extremities of the vault. But that was expected. A fight could still await, and my biceps and arcane mind were primed.**  
**

Then a chestnut color. The top of a head. An Imperial.

I loosened, deflated. So far so good. His white shirt and brown vest became clear, and as the slab moved down past his belt to reveal a man so harmless looking, I became more and more confident this was nothing, and felt more and more like laughing at my previous worries. **  
**

The door finished, the last vestige of the previous, tense scene, as worry continued to flow out of me. Still no fight. It seemed time to dismiss that prospect.

"Who are you?"

He looked completely out of place somewhere so obscure, secret and important. How the hell did he know the location of our clandestine hideout?

"Oh, um, my apologies." I suddenly realized our arms must have made him uneasy. I lowered my sword, since, thank the Nine, it seemed they would now have no use. "I am but a courier. I work for Kastav Antonius, Master of the Antonius Sugar Company. I know you've seen our operations in Elsweyr."

Kastav Antonius...yes. I had protected his local office personally, albeit from the shadows. But what the hell was a businessman doing in on top secret state (or formerly state) affairs?**  
**

"How the hell did you find this place?" Even in my blissful relief I felt a trace of annoyance.

"My master, Mr. Antonius, was aware of your existence here." How? These circumstances were still outrageous.

"Even the location of this hideout?" This was bewildering. This was one of the most guarded secrets in Tamriel, or should have been by any common sense! The idea of it leaking into the lap of a sugar monger was...awful. What was I missing here?

"Well...yes," the courier said somewhat sheepishly.

"How the hell did he learn of that?" Though I realized my words were probably unnecessarily sharp with him. The harmless looking man was probably left out of the loop. I should soften my tone.

The courier responded, "He says he...ummm, has friends in the Elder Council." Rich men and nobles often did but...

"And they divulge that information that readily?" How wrong had I been about the integrity of our officials? Even after they had sold out this war, I still thought they were above such recklessness. This was a travesty, but I would try to keep anger out of my tone.

"Well...yes...I suppose..." The poor errand boy was just caught in the middle, stuck between forces much taller than himself. **  
**

There was silence. The Nibenean looked down uncomfortably.

"Well, what is it you want?" I asked with a lighter tone. I would take up grievances with Kastav Antonius, though I could tell I was only beginning to feel their weight.

"He has requested a meeting with you," the messenger said. That was quite a demand from a guy who was not supposed to be able to find me at all. "He has a business deal to offer."

Making business deals with dungeon dwelling renegade super soldiers? This was truly odd.

"At his office in the Sugar Groves District?"

He nodded.

The messenger extended his hand, with a small piece of paper. "The meeting will be in two days time. At noon, precisely."

I gently grabbed it and mumbled a 'thank you' and looked down at the parchment. It was not a formal letter. It was directions. Not regal. Not smooth. Simple and to the point. As blunt and rude and terse as my introduction to the appallingly loose lips of the Elder Council...and Kastav Antonius himself, by confiding our location in a nobody courier.

But this was something new in a nation where horror had become mundane and success was little more than living another day. Change always meant a tiny possibility of progress. Yes, I would certainly meet with Mr. Antonius.


	55. The Two Imperials

"The food of Elsweyr is invariably sweet; candies, cakes, puddings, and sugarmeats are the staples of the _khajiit_ diet," -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, The Elsweyr Confederacy

Mid Year 26, 4E2

Sugar Groves District, Torval

* * *

It was a gray morning. Sun shined only faintly through the clouds.

Elsweyr continued to be a dark journey, trudging forward in hopes of one day the enemy just relenting, like we were constantly tempted to do. The tower (in which the late Rizzani said Antonius had his office), a tribute, in my eyes, to Zenithar and the Cyrodilic ethics, guided me towards the man who might provide something fresh. But what a sugar monger could want with me was beyond me. **  
**

The past two days had been heavily seasoned with anticipation. One little meeting with a businessman could captivate my mind, but that was because Elsweyr had lately been a cycle of mundane horror.

On this strip there were black toothed beggars, broken windows, and broken bottles. There was a watchman and a grieving woman in weathered shawl standing over a dead body on the sidewalk. It was another mark against me on the scoreboard, and against Elsweyr. Every ounce of despair this city felt was a stain on my ambitions and a source of shame to Ocato's vision. Every crime was a punch against idealism and egilitarianism. And every sight took a bit more vigor from my spirit. But such was all nothing new. For the past few months, it was life.**  
**

I was not taking this walk alone. Ah-Marz was with me. He had not had not left the sanctuary in a while, and I figured it was perhaps a bit too dangerous to travel alone. Not that I expected one could not make a business trip without getting ambushed by guerillas, but my life was not something to be handled recklessly, and I doubted the savages here would be kind enough to simply kill me if they got their hands on this 'foreign occupier.'

I saw some grafitti on a nearby warehouse. It was colorful: Two faces, mine and Collects-Rocks, with our distinctive features, maniacal grins and blood dripping from their mouths. Fire shot through my veins. Someone had spent a lot of time on it without getting arrested too, which was further unsettling.

They singled me out because I was the leader. Why did they single Rocks him among my subordinates? Likely because he had been the one to take down the owner of Adhazzka's Defenses. He had also probably been the most reticent of the task, yet he was the one with the talents to make it happen, and the bravery to do it, so he would be the one who received the title of murderer, the label of bloodthirsty, and the brunt of the hatred.

It was a pattern I had seen again and again. Those who stood up and played the spearhead were the ones with the lion's share of disdain vollied their way. Uriel, Ocato, and now me. The men who stood behind them were shielded.

The local art would have probably been even more engrossing if I did not have something else to focus on, the question of Kastav Antonius could have possibly wanted.

We were entering the poor district, as demonstrated by the nearly uniform, mostly doorless, windowless huts. Antonius kept his sugar plantations here, probably because of the plethora of unskilled laborers. It smelled like the Waterfront. It looked worse, though unlike my last trip to the Waterfront, most of the inhabitants were inside.

On the opposite side of the street, something stuck out: the sparse foot traffic held a group of five: four bipeds and a Pahmar. Three of them were armed, one (a Tojay-Raht) with a crossbow on his back; ranged weapons made me all the more tense and self conscious. Those arms probably cost more than a house here. They could be adventurers or private security, though I was mindful those could also be insurgents. The Cathay-Raht, the unarmed biped of the group, gave us a passing glance. _Only a passing glance._ Either harmless private guards, or very smart guerrillas.

Still, private blades were not exactly a drake a dozen in Elsweyr. And, being all Khajiit, those clearly were not Fighters Guild. Had things gotten so bad that I could expect to meet hostiles just _visiting_ Torval? Or certainly that was golden luck for them, given I was without armor or augmentation right now.

As we passed the five, I turned my head as far as back as possible without breaking pace. Though nothing yet indicated they were a threat preparing to attack.

I faced forward again, promptly swerving after nearly bumping into a decrepit old Ohmes. I mumbled some quick apologies and circumvented him. A husband and wife shouted at each other from within a nearby hut. Ah-Marz and I kept advancing on the path. Should I put those armed men out of my mind? The idea of outright turning and waiting until the tough looking group passed out of sight had its temptations. But it also smelt a bit of paranoia.

Yet the idea was stubborn. It tickled the back of my mind. And for all I knew a crossbow could be aimed at the back of my neck.

That tickle became a pinch on the back of my neck. I knew that feeling.

I swung around.

The five were nine paces behind me, the Pahmar at the front now breaking into a charge. Fear burst in my chest. At first my hand went for my hilt but he ate up the distance so I lept and rolled out of the way onto the cobbled road! A damn useful skill, but not a comforting way to start a battle. I heard Ah-Marz skewer the beast as I returned to my feet, but the others had began their attack. The two sword wielders were charging, each at one of us.

I unsheathed my weapon, tugging in vain once, but got it up no later than to intercept a swing.

And the fighter quickly shield bashed me in the stomach. In utter shock, the wind was knocked from me by the cruel and unexpected finesse. I stumbled back but raised my sword against his next swing loud _ting_. I back-pedaled clumsily and erected myself fully in time to block another, weaker and quicker swing with an awkwardly twisting wrist. Then I backed up vigorously in large steps, giving me a second to recollect. But the merciless guerilla gobbled up the distance in equal velocity. These opponents were a cut above, or perhaps imbued with confidence. Upon getting close, he went for a stab, which I swerved away from, and as his head was bowed I cleaved downward and into his skull.

Severing a million fibers in his brain, he crumbled, instantly terminated. Thankfully, my deadly grace had been greater than his.**  
**

But as if on que, the fall fully exposed a crossbowman who immediately let lose a shot. My heart skipped a beat but it zipped past my arm with a harsh buzz. Tremendous tension spilled out of me, but so close was the shot, I still looked down for injury, but the flesh had not been grazed.

Now Densius Fidelis had the upper hand. Instead of reloading, the rebel immediately ran, back in the direction of the sidewalk he had previously strided. He and the Cathay-Raht, who had taken out a hidden dagger, were both running for cover into a hut.

But instead of chasing, my gaze shot over to Ah-Marz. Yet he was finishing off his own adversary, turning the Khajiit into a useless sack of meat before my eyes shot back to the hut, where the two guerillas entered one after the other and took cover behind opposite flanks.

That had to become the prime focus of the battle.

Charging in there would be extremely risky. The passage was too narrow for both of us to go in at once without serious sluggishness and coordination, and attacking one would leave my back to the other.

The crossbowman was reloading now, no doubt. Could I make it in before he finished? Probably, but if I killed the dagger wielder first, I could get stabbed in the back with a bolt by hand. If I killed the Tojay-Raht first, I could get stabbed in the back more conventionally. Killing both unscathed was plausible, but I would put my odds at fifty percent by now, which was unacceptable for someone as important as me.

The other option was, of course, to depend on him taking action first, and dodging his shot. But that gambled too close to the void for anything less than chilling apprehension, since dodging a crossbow bolt was a feat, not a standard proceedure.

And with this delay, likely he had reloaded by now. And he was not firing yet. The empty doorway just stared at me as the gods held their breath.

I could not gamble with our lives. Densius Fidelis would not fall to two petty guerillas on his way to a meeting; I knew the only clean, quick, and safe solution.

I dropped my sword to clatter on the ground and whipped the staff off of my back. It would solve yet another battle. There could be a third person, an innocent, in that hut, but my death would mean a hundred evil doers would get to live. Maybe the Hist sap augmentations could have offered another solution, but it was too late for that now.

I jerked the device, M'Dazzir's key legacy being used once again.

The ball of fire flew. The outlaws did not know their fate was already sealed, but they would see the impact on the back wall a split second before it took their lives. Could there be anyone else, a civilian, inside? I had not heard their objections to the home invasion, but...

_Boom. _The magic exploded, from tiny molten ball to infernal blossom, concluding the battle, like so many others, in a pompous display that left no doubt the Knights of Elsweyr should be feared.

When the magical inferno cleared, little but the skeleton of the building remained, and the bones of the two who had opposed me falling. And-

But another sound caught my attention, coming from the side of the streets the guerillas had walked, and I swerved my head towards the pounding feet. There was a woman with barefeet and look of distress carrying a dark Ohmes girl of perhaps two or three in her hands. Were they running from something? Was there yet another threat, worse perhaps, to deal with?

They were about to cross the flaming wreckage I made, and they stopped in front of it and starred. I knew what that meant.

Something foul and heavy dropped into my stomach. I stood, slapped in the face by fate. Until the trance was broken my the shrill sound of the child bursting into tears.

With her face crinkled and wailing shattering the shell on my soul, I could almost feel the color drain out of me, while hoping it was only their home I had destroyed.

The noise, oh so loud and accusatory, slithered through the streets to fill the ears of a hundred bystanders, damning me.

The woman put the child down to inspect the ruins herself. It felt like broken glass in my guts to even consider what she might be thinking.

A voice to my side nearly made me jump. "Maybe you have been a little ham-fisted with that weapon, sir." It was Ah-Marz, now right beside me. I swerved around, but my disarmament converted into a burst of fury!

I shoved the staff into his arms, and immediately spat, "You think _you_ can do better? Why don't _you_ wield this!? Why don't _you_ make the calls!? Why don't _you _be the one to decide what's fetching hamfisted, and what's worth protecting your men and _all_ these people!"

He just looked at me stunned, shaken, my own disarmament perhaps passed onto him. I snatched back the staff, but that had made my attitude now tough, black, and shriveled like a raisin.

With angry hands and tiger eyes I threw the weapon back upon my back, then picked up the sword, blocking out the sound of the crying with a ethereal shield over my soul reconstructed, this one tougher and uglier, and went storming back in the direction I was originally walking.

Her cries continued, _the little witch._ But no, I could not fault her. It _was_ a tragedy, and another casualty would be attached to my name. It was not good that it had to work this way, and she was within every right to weep over it.

But _I_ was within every fetching right to feel no guilt. This was war. It was never without tragedy.

But that damn weeping had to be heard across these streets, seeping into the ears of every local, poisoning their minds with the view of me that graffiti illustrated, that little by little pelted against Elsweyr's progress.

No one would ever hear the screams of the murdered watchmen or social deviants who would have been killed if those guerillas had got away. That was the cruel injustice of being the one who _prevented_ such tragedies. These stigmas were as much a part of my warriorhood as bolts and sickness and blades.

I tried to block out the sound as I stomped forward with stern resolve, though the little girl certainly was not making any concessions. But I kept my gaze hard, and angry, ahead.

_If you are the one who's going to stop the flow of the blood, you are the one whose hands get red and sticky, _I thought. That was a good way to put it.

Of the few huts ahead of me, no one had come out to look. Good. I would have been tempted to bust their faces. Maybe others had come out to see the source of the ruckus on the other side of the street.

Maybe _they_ were staring at me, but let them stare. I did not have to stare back.

The corner was close, thank the gods. At least then I would be out of the direct line of sight of the strip I had blemished, though the child's crying cut far and wide through the air.

But, in a bit of mercy, a ricketting carriage with necklaced nobleman, pulled by two mighty Senche, was clattering around the corner and then in my direction. It provided a bit of noise to drown out others. He probably did not know I had caused the tears either, but would he figure it out?

I tried to stick my mind on what was ahead. _Antonius._ What could he possibly want? A mercenary contract, perhaps. The seemed shady to conduct with an outlaw super-soldier. I would not be surprised if I refused. But it was not like I could report him to the authorities. Or could I?

The corner was close.

And I made that turn. There was a more comfortable sight ahead, furry workers toiling in familiar fields. The workers probably heard the weeping, but at least outwardly, paid it no mind. Coming back to Antonius Sugar's Headquarters it, this time in a gray, tear dampened, thoroughly bruised Elsweyr, as the leader and a subordinate was nearly surreal. I was a much harder man now.

There were two guards visible. One was at the front door (through which I would enter) in full mithril armor, the other was among the stalks. The former looked to be Fighters Guild given his respectable suit. The other, supervising the workers and scanning the streets in alternation, was in leather, and looked like a local green boy, as much a token as a warrior. Both, if not more, were surely necessary; Working for a foreign mega-business in the open air had to be as dangerous. Deep inside the building, I could guess Antonius was safe from it all, though. He was spared the grit of the outside world. I had destroyed a home to get to this little meeting while the Imperial sat deep inside a corporate palace on a felt chair. The bastard better be cordial.

Still, I could not forget those were evil men who had been killed with the inferno too, whatever or who ever had been taken with them. They would have done some killing of their own if I had not incinerated them first. On net, I had probably saved lives, even discounting my own.

Whatever expression my face bore right now, the door guard could surely make it out at this point. But the Khajiit opened the door and gracefully beckoned me in, softening my previous bitterness a little. What was presented was a narrow hall, window lit with hardwood floor and a second guard (an Orc) sitting upon a sturdy wooden chair, next to a flower pot.

I stepped in and, perhaps courtesy of the polite welcome, rubbed my feet on the welcoming mat. The Orc looked over, but his eyes showed only malaiyse, before he went back to the drink I now noticed was in his hand. Just as well.

I got off the mat while Ah-Marz imitated my procedure and the door closed behind us. The directions were simple, unlike the rest of this afternoon, so I saw the corner we needed to turn. Then it was time to confront Mr. Moneybags himself and see what he could want with a cabal of magical visionary outlaws.

When my subordinate ceased, I began heading forward, finally going to see the man who should not have even known about our top-secret location. I had nearly been pegged with a bolt for this.

Turning the corner, it was no mystery where to find the boss. The door straight ahead bore a bronze plack, and yet another hired blade, an unarmored Imperial with slick black hair and arms as thick as tree trunks. It seemed rather arrogant of Antonius to keep most of his guards _in_side while his little workers toiled exposed to the volatile city streets.

What would the noble himself look like, I wondered passing the uniform doors on the left and right. The name Antonius sounded slightly familiar, but it definitely was not _this_ Antonius who I was thinking of.

As I got close to the office entrance, the intimidating Imperial reflexively turned to tap the door with his knuckles. "Mr. Antonius," he called, revealing a counter intuitively effeminate voice, "your guests are here. Are you prepared?"

"Yes, tell them to come right in."

The burly biceps stepped aside. Time to find out why Kastav Antonius felt himself in need of the services of renegade super-soldiers. My prediction was that I would not like it. I opened the door.

The first thing I noticed was jarring! An undead skeleton standing by his side! I knew necromancy was legal in Elsweyr, but had not expected to see it used by a respected Cyrodiil nobleman! I had never bought the arguments that necromancy was evil, but it was still such a brash display.

"Ah, my apologies son. I didn't know you'd be bringing company." Antonius himself, a man of chin length, wavey brown hair and a dark, rich outfit said behind his mohagony desk. "Avita," he addressed his grotesque servant, "would you kindly bring that little chair over here and set it in front of the desk?" I thought his little pet would be the subject of his first apology. The clacking bones got to work, nothing I had ever witnessed before.

He looked back at me. "I'm sorry if my little servant unnerves you, son." I did not know if 'unnerves' was the right word, but it did nearly my skin crawl to be waited on by human remains. "It's just difficult to find reliable labor here that won't rob you out of house and home."

And, speak of the devil, she came back and placed the chair down next to mine. _The creepiest thing I've ever seen_. I would let the Argonian have that one. The servant began walking again, presumably back to her place. I saliently waited for 'her' to clear away. Then I took my seat. Ah-Marz took the adjacent. Maybe I was putz for leaving him the other, but right now was time to focus on our strange inviter.

The brunette extended his hand. "Kastav Antonius." I only just realized we had not been greeted officially. Was shaking hands sitting down proper? Regardless, I accepted. It was hardly the most jarring occurrence today. "The pleasure is all mine."

He had eyes a dull green, with a pipe and coaster on his desk as well as a little wooden bird. And, of course, the standard ink and quill, and a modest stack of papers. Behind him hung tapestries, local design.

" I heard some ruckus outside. I hope the trip over here wasn't too...inhospitable." It softened me a bit to hear him mention that.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," I replied dryly. I did not want to get into the darkness behind those words. Then, sort of antsy about the subject, I added "I thought your office was in the tower."

"I have two rooms to call my own here, Mr. Fidelis. The chamber two floors above is where I keep my bed and watch my workers...and get a little work done on occasion. But this is where the lion's share of my labor gets conducted."

Satisfactory answer. Not really an important question though.

Kastav folded his hands. "Now, son, I'm sure this invitation came as a bit of a surprise to you." _No kidding._ "But I assure you, you won't regret attending." He paused for a second, adjusting his collar. "There's a lot of talk about you around here, son. Rumors are you've been in a bit of a...low spirit recently." That was an interesting example of local gossip. I suppose it was true. When was the last time I was in _high_ spirits about Elsweyr? Before I could interjected, he added, "I understand it may be hard to keep a jolly disposition seeing what is going on here in this sunny city, but I assure you your work is appreciated."

He was buttering me up...where was he going with this?

"Here's why I brought you here." The grand moment of truth. "Your work in Elsweyr has been very profitable to me. Anyone who keeps the streets safe and clean is an aid to my business. But I understand keeping high spirits might be a bit of a challenge, given the circumstances." He was trying to get this out nice and slow.

He went on. "I think it's high time someone compensate you for your efforts."

Wow! Oddly, that did not sound sinister at all. I was a bit taken aback.

I felt guilty at my previous assumptions. Maybe a bit of Fourth Era cynicism had leaked into me too.

He continued. "I am willing to be very generous. A stable and free Torval should allow me to hold a fruitful business here until the end of my days. If you stay here and fight, see this through, son, there's be twenty-five-thousand gold coming your way. All its written in contract right here, son. All you need do is sign."

Twenty-five thousand. That was more than I had received for going into the heart of Black Marsh.

Yet oddly I did not feel very enthusiastic for the offer.

Wealth. The spectre had so often chased in the past did not have much of an appeal to me now, oddly. It just seemed...worthless. Not that I was ready to turn down twenty-five thousand Septims, but...**  
**

I replied sardonically, "You, a high profile businessman, are willing to strike a deal with a war criminal?" Did not he expect some fallout?

"People like me have a way of slipping out of sticky situations, son," he said cockily. "I have too many friends in high places for things to go sour." An unpleasant reminder of how the world worked. But it was what it was. I could at least get some cash out of it.

Yet if I failed here, found no redemption for how I had disgraced the legion, all it would do is make me burn brighter when I wanted to shrink into obscurity. If I succeeded, I would have everything I wanted out of life. And, making this deal, I might lose something...something that was with me right now...

"No deal, Antonius." The words almost seemed to make the air quake, the anticipation dropping a level in a moment of sealed choice and morality.

The Colovian, of course, looked surprised. "Why not, Mr. Fidelis? I think the terms I've outlined are very generous." Indeed, it almost surprised me to feel this way, but...

I took a deep breath. "The people in Torval need to know I'm fighting for_ them_. I'm sorry, Mr. Antonius, but you can keep your money." He kept his coin, I kept my image. This may have felt somber, but it was a win-win.

He looked a bit taken a back, and softly replied, "Son-"

Our attention was snatched by the sound of moderately distant screams, vocal cacophany, smashing wood, and thunder footsteps. I shot up from my seat.


	56. Hearts and Minds

"Conjuration, for the layman unacquainted with its workings, connects the caster's mind with that of the summoned. It is a tenuous link, meant only to lure, hold, and dismiss, but in the hands of a Master, it can be much stronger." -The Doors of Oblivion

Mid Year 26, 4E2

Kastav Antonius' Office, Sugar Groves District

* * *

Ah-Marz took the signal too. Antonius looked a little surprised, but I turned and made for the door, and he did not demand an explanation. Maybe this was to be the conclusion of our meeting, but that would be determined later. I burst into the hall and broke into a light run, I could hear the chaos continue, muffled through the numerous walls. I passed the many doors and turned the corner, and burst through the main entrance, into the opened air.

I broke into full speed. Audible was stomping, pounding, crumbling all coming from the strip where I had left my ugly mark; Now something far worse was there.

I was running, as fast as I could with human legs, something I had not done in a while. This would be the second battle today, and both of them had to be when we were not blessed by the Hist Sap. Luck had been cruel today.

Or maybe not, for I would get an opportunity to redeem myself in the eyes of that stretch of huts. But whatever monster was wreaking havoc would also have a good chance of killing me.

What could it be? Some sort of demon from Oblivion no doubt, brought in by a conjurer whose motives were anyone's guess. How many had it killed just since I had started running?

The corner was close, and soon I would see the manner of beast we would be dealing with. I heard the distinctive sound of magical lightening whipping the air, thankfully towards the direction I was not arriving.

I veered around it, to at least see the evil golemn.

It was bizarre, surreal, hard to comprehend sight: A bulky form of swirling rocks, crackling with electricity, as tall as a Cathay. Then I knew where I had seen it: The page in Sulinus' book, one of the Daedric elementals: a Storm Atronach. It had seemed so much more innocuous as a drawing.

It was charging at a watchman archer who had bravely, perhaps suicidal, tried to do what he could to chip away at its health.

I wasted no time becoming part of the attack force, as I shot magic. Would my frost even hurt it? I did not know, but at least it might provide a distraction for the poor hero who was about to feel the daedroth's mighty fists.

My spell hit the hulk, but provided no distraction. It was now within range of the helpless bowman. It reeled back its mighty stone fist for a blow that threw the archer, pathetic against the force, across the street to land like a rag doll. An Elsweyri martyr. I did not know how many the thing had killed while we were getting here, but now that toll was one body higher.

I processed magicka and released a second shot. Though the cloud would only hit if it did not move, luck was merciful and the atronach seemed to be staring at something ahead. _Come on, come on!_

The magic did hit its shoulder, but that caught its attention. I was its focus now. A frightening prospect no less. It was time to fight with steel. Or would be in several seconds, as the demon began bounding towards me.

I unsheathed my sword. I did not like these odds, and could practically taste the blackness of death as the hulk advanced. I back pedaled as much as possible to grow the distance between us, so my reserves might recharge more, but a direct confrontation seemed inevitable. Is this how I would die, only yards away from my crime, struck down protecting the people of Elsweyr from an anonymous conjurer's hellspawn? Maybe that was merciful.

The monster was very close. My muscles tightened hard as rocks. Or not quite, or I might have been confident in this battle.

The terrifying hulk came in range. It stopped, reeling its mighty arm back.

And when it swung, I lept back, knowing I could well be struck down in flight, practically praying in mid air.

When I hit the street again, I was whole, and felt the strong gust of wind from its blur of a fist. I had evaded by the strain of my muscles. I wasted no time. I chopped into the invisible force holding it together as it was victim of momentum. I saw Ah-Marz getting at it from a different angle. He was hacking down its side. It produced a surreal, angry growl.

Yet it did not chose to shift focus to Ah-Marz, but kept its expressionless face on me. It threw back both its hands in a different way, and suddenly instinct told me what was coming.

With full intention, I fell onto my back. I hit the ground (awkwardly atop the staff) and a furious gust of lightening flew over my head, wiry electricity rushing so close I could have licked it.

When the energy had passed without frying me, which felt like a second miracle, I shot back up. Ah-Marz continued to do his part and had finally gotten its priority.

It turned its mighty form, I reproduced my algorithms at light speed as the atronach reared back for a punch. The air could have strangled me with its tension as the frost left my finger tips.

It flew. The stone fist began flying forward. It hit.

The magical being came apart. That had been its last straw. A tremendous relief shot through me like a fountain as it crumpled into a giant heap of rocks. I had not needed to see the death of another friend. I felt euphoric as the atronach crumpled to reveal a scared looking Ah-Marz with eyes shut tight in fear.

Finally, after a second of silence, he relented to open them. Seeing he was still in this plane, he lowered his hands, let out a sight on relief.

He put a hand on his chest and started breathing heavily. Pristine and unharmed, he was a beautiful slight, as the electric fires of the atronach crackled their last crackles.

In a brief prayer of thanks I clasped my hands and shut my eyes.

When I opened them again in the blessed daylight, the Argonian, heaving heavily, seem quite shaken by the close call. I walked over to him. He gave a small, feeble smile. I put a hand on his shoulder. "You alright?" But his gaze darted towards the strip, so mine did too.

In a foggy daze, people were starting to come out of their houses. I had saved them, perhaps redeemed myself in their hearts.

But several dead bodies littered the streets. Walls had been smashed, doors dealt gaping holes. The creature had done its share of damage.

I sheathed my sword, marking the cease of combat. I power-walked forward, hands in the air, gesturing for calm, yelling "It's alright, everyone. The threat has been dealt with." Though I was not sure how many could understand.

I was fast approaching the closest denizen, a braided Tojay-Raht.

Looking him in his feline eyes I inquired, "Sir, did you see the perpetrator of this attack? Anyone appearing to be a wizard."

He only stared at me and blinked, in an oddly stoic manner.

"I'm sorry, I take it you don't speak Cy-"

All was a blurr, and the next I knew I was recoiling and staggering. Clearly, my previous perceptions had to be swept aside. Then, the world came back in focus for an instant to feel the Khajiit's hands on my shoulders before the force of being tackled to the ground, shocked again. This was overwhelming. And the furious belligerent reeled back to scratch again, but he was pulled and thrown off me by Ah-Marz.

I immediately got to my feet, shaken and disoriented. I moved to touch ominously unfeeling spot on my cheek, and saw my fingers come back red.

And then, to my right, I heard a woman screaming, and turned to see a Suthay with a rolling pin raised, charging at me like a feral animal. Others behind her joined.

A horrible feeling dropped into the pit of me: this was Kae'Tar all over again. I clumsily unsheathed my sword, other screams joined in quick succession. Civilians, with eyes wild and expressions like rabid beasts, had made it their mission to kill me. I got my sword out and cut her in one swift motion. Maybe a mother, maybe a wife, she crumpled to the ground, caught up in stupid, useless rage that had now infected the whole street.

And I swerved to see even more coming from the direction when had arrived, a couple even city-watch. And Ah-Marz was still grappling with the claw man. Things were about to get hideous, and for reasons that were inverted karma.**  
**

I ran to help my subordinate. I would have fallen in line with riot training normally, but the circumstances were clearly not normal. Their limbs locked in a contest of strength, I aimed for the belligerent's elbow chopped down, what might be unthinkable in any other situation, cleaving the man's arm. Ah-Marz was holding a disembodied forearm as the hostile disconnected in shock and screamed, bleeding profusely. But he left the forefront of my mind quickly as we both turned to the growing riot.

The locals composed a horrible mosiac of men, women, armed and unarmed, city watch, latent insurgents, and commoners.

If I had even been willing to take on all these caught in a frenzy of madness, I could not. And it looked like the guards are Antonius Sugar were not going to help us. They were smart.**  
**

I turned towards Ah-Marz and cried, "We have to get out of here!" and began bolting towards the nearest alley. I felt like I was witnessing an avalanche. But I remembered the way to the secret passage from forest to city; The was the quickest way out of the Sugar Groves District.

Retreating from civilians, civilians I had come to_ save_, I bolted between two buildings. Passing a couple of barrels, the implications of what was happening here would not get fully processed until this was over. But clearly the enemy's own bloody nature had turned the population against me, again!

I whipped around, heading due Eastward. This old path, once taken casually and innocuously, was now a life line for a super soldier. And it was only a matter of time before the attackers started spilling into the backstreets too. I had faced down perhaps a hundred guerilla, but was forced to run by a mob of common men, armed with kitchen knives, work hammers, and claws.**  
**

Judging by the copious battle cries, this was worse than Kae'tar, definitely. How bad would things be when the dust cleared? Unclear. But for now, hurtling through the darkness, I could not worry about that.

We were approaching the next turn, retracing my steps from that mundane mission months back.

A renegade guard jumped out of an alley, and took defensive stance. I shot my arm forward to cast right at his face without break pace. My magic, as always, ran faster than me, hitting the furry face to be my saving grace against a hideously ironic adversary. While he was disoriented I pushed him aside to assist turning. One's best finesse seemed to manifest only in the most inglorious of moments.**  
**

And the secret exit was right ahead, my feet and heart pounding, a way out of this hell where everyone had betrayed me. I recalled the hidden buttons, though surely waiting for the door to descend would be grueling.

Eventually I would have to return to this city again, face it again. What that would be like, I had no idea, but it did not matter now.

But we were close...

I swerved past a crate, scared a bird into flight.

And against the secret door I stopped myself, crumpling upon it, and punched the buttons. The stone started to sink and I immediately turned to see who or whatever was behind us (a million possibilities), only to have my eyes meet the sight of a whizzing arrow.

With a harsh zip, it wisked past me, but only an instant latter making a hard and fleshy splat.

"Ah-Marz!" His body, dead or alive, slumped down against the bricks. He made a weak grunting noise. Then my eyes shot back to the perpetrator. At least one of us was in mortal danger as long as the bandit was there. There was no 'safe' option in this situation, so I began charging the archer like a vicious animals, all my mind on my speed and kill! Nothing focused the brain like survival, a friend or one's own. He was reaching back for another arrow, but my focus remained hard and solid as steel. He put the arrow in, and I kept charging. I did not know if I would meet the same fate as Ah-Marz but this was the path I had chosen. Maybe I was running into my end, but it was too late to turn back. And when his bow was pointed at me and string pulled back, it was clear he would get the shot off, but I raised the sword blunt side forward and remarkably blocked it.

I had pulled the impossible again. And then, with animal fury, I reeled back for the most vigorous strike I had ever made, decapitating the belligerent with a gust of wind.

Finesse, once again, came in the most inglorious moment. And though I was faced with retreat, I would at least be granted life.

I immediately swung back around, punching an emerging Khajiit, and bolted for the Argonian. He was moving, head swerving lazily around as I ran towards him with an unreal sync and focus. I had run south to kill, now I was running north to rescue.

My brother, my subordinate, the noble crusader. He could not die.

A Pahmar emerged from one of the alleys and I planted my sword in him, using it as meaty leverage to jump over his body and abandoning the weapon, focus solely on getting two heroes, myself and Ah-Marz, out of here alive.

Every second seemed to stretch. So far it was clear ahead, though anyone could pop out of the alleys , the one kindness granted extrinsically today, it appeared the door would be all the way down by the time I reach my comrade.

No one had got in my way yet. _Come on, come on! _One more house.

And then I got to him, and wasted not a second grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet with a muscular Legion arm.

"Let's go!" I screamed, dragging him and stumbling through the opened passage. It was the transition from the city to the wilderness. Ironically, we were finding our safety away from civilization. The lion's share of the monsters were in the city right now.

And when he made it through I let go of him and wasted no time swerving back to pull the hidden lever to close the gateway before us, even as he fell onto the leaves. But it reascended oh so slowly as the overflow of angry men and women were on our tail.

Then another blurr raced into view, this one in the dreaded colors of city watch. But the local turned to face against the opposition! Yes! One was still loyal to me. Some were still performing their noble duties. I felt relief, then gratitude, then guilt in rapid succession as the closing door meant leaving this man to a cruel, undeserving fate. My eyes darted for a way to help as the feral crowd approached him, but there was little opening.

Best to make sure he fought for something. It was sad and touching, but he could not be rescued with me. His sacrifice would not be forgotten, already making a poignant counter to the sense of betrayal I felt from the rest.

I had another white soul to tend to, and turned around to see my Argonian comrade lying on his side, the projectile gruesomely stuck through his torso. His eyes were distant and unfeeling amid the dirt and brush. I rushed over to him as the clashes and cries of resistance echoed rearward.

I knelt down beside him. "Ah-Marz, buddy..." _Are you alright?_ But that seemed like a stupid question. If he was going to be, I needed to make sure of it. "I'm going to get that thing out of you, okay?"

He only blinked blandly, with an expression like he ate something foul. But after a second I took that as consent, and stabilized him with the proper position of my hands and feet. Time for the grizzly task. I grasped the arrow and pulled. With sickeningly slick and organic sounds, Ah-Marz cringing during the process, I removed the wood. And the instant it was out I dropped the red object upon the forest floor and grasped both sides of his wound. Just like Soch-Eena. _Just like Soch-Eena._ One could only hope he would not meet the same fate.

I heard door close, separating us from the noble watchman. It was a sad fate I was abandoning him. But the sounds of fighting now seemed far more ubiqitous in the city. Screams and clashing steel was echoing not just from our exit point, but even from distant parts of the district.

Yet _we_ found peace here, temporarily, at least, my hands on either side of his wound. But even if we were alive, what marks they had left: I was encrusted with blood, the scarlet from my scratches having stained all the way down to my arm. There would be more from entry and exit wounds I now held.

Something huge raged in the city. What in the gods name had we sparked? Or rather, what had the enemy sparked? After all, it was local rage at the attack of an anonymous conjurer that set off this mob...against me.

The enemy, whether guerilla or common criminal, had done it again. They had turned the population against me with their own senseless massacre.

But senseless murder...what drove so many to that in the first place? Why had they deployed an atronach in the middle of a poor strip? Who could they have possibly been targeting? Who of consequence could have possibly been there? It was not something I had seen in my early days in Dune, and certainly nothing I had seen as a watchman in Cyrodiil.

But whatever their reasons, it worked in against _me_.

Or maybe that _was_ the reason.

Could that have been the plan? It was bigoted to dismiss my enemies could be that clever. And, in fact, it made a logical explanation for the otherwise incomprehensible that occurred nearly every day in Elsweyr.

Was something starting to dawn on me? Maybe there _was_ no senseless terror here. The fire potions thrown of the wall, the ropes cut on the wells and the poisons dropped in them, the food incinerated in Anequina. It seemed like random, stupid barbarism, but it had become more frequent the longer the war went on and always came back to bite us.

Maybe the 'madman' behind these things knew how they were shaping the minds of Elsweyr to the conveniences of the side of insurgency. And the civilians, who thought they were standing up to power, were actually their stupid pawns, their slaves.

Yes.

Every time an innocent Khajiit died, every time a piece of infrastructure crumbled, every time a savage _outlaw_ made lives of the common folk in Torval harder, it did not add any new recruits to the citywatch or Confederate army to fight the death dealers. Rather, it made the Khajiit more loathe K'Raska's ascent to the thrown, and Cyrodiil's presence. _"You brought this here!" "Is this K'Raska's new Elsweyr!?"_ That's what they had cried in the Nonarian village Kae'Tar.

_Mother Mara. _It was all coming together. The wanton murderers here, they were no psychopaths, but rather sly swines toiling for the Renrijra Krin cause. They realized how things worked here. They had discovered the _real_ secret to hearts and minds in Elsweyr, and played the commoners like chest pieces. The opposition, the people I fought, were about to win for being the biggest bastards they could be, and they knew it. I was, for once in history, fighting an enemy too evil to oppose. Those who fired arrows into random crowds were not madmen, but men with a cold understanding of Elsweyr's anti-karmatic nature.

And the rioters outside were their dupes. Who knows how many of the guerillas' enemies, the guardsman that arrested them and the military that killed them, they had got men with pitch forks and dinner knives to put down.

The Renrijra Krin had set out to win hearts the old fashion way in the beginning, giving gifts to the locals, deploying their war magics conservatively, keeping their targets to only those who threatened them with arms. But they evolved. They realized acts of savagery did not hurt their cause, then they realized those acts helped it.

Before Imperial troops had pulled out, when this place was still a journalists banquet, the rampage of the atronach would have led to more bodies for the undertaker. And that would have led to a higher body count reported by word of mouth and ink, and that would have led to a body count attributed to Cyrodiil's blades by ignorant outsiders. That would have meant more hatred for this war and Cyrodiil.

But even without this misconception, people could be turned against me by the enemy's atrocities, knowing full well who cut the cuts and stabbed the stabs.

The outlaws, the guerillas, the rebels, had recruited a horde precisely by being the most despicable presence they could be. The people of Elsweyr had made it profitable to be cruel.

"Sir." Those words pulled me back to reality. That was the first speech I had heard from my Argonian comrade. They were groggy and quiet, but a sign of health.

"Yes?" I asked, looking into his vulnerable, reptilian eyes.

"Let go," he said calmly. "I think I can stand."


	57. Brooding

A/N: Yes, this one is short and uneventful, but I saw no reason to delay its release. So enjoy.

* * *

"If you plan your dispositions well, your victories will seem easy and you will win no acclaim. If you plan your dispositions poorly, your victories will seem difficult, and your fame will be widespread." -The Art of War Magic

Mid Year 30, 4E2

Subterranean Sanctuary, Office

* * *

"Thank you," I dismissed the interpreter with a resigned sigh. This was as bad as I had thought. We were not getting back into Torval any time soon. The city had truly gone off the edge now. Maybe they had at last thrown The Knights of New Elsweyr overboard.

The Khajiit closed the door behind him.

Maybe they thought chasing me out would get rid of the Renrijra Krin, but they were wrong. The Renrijra Krin had not left Cornith and Senchal with the Imperial Legion when Ocato ordered the recall, so they were hopeless fools to think they had done themselves any good.

The violence would continue upon them. Then would they at last regret snubbing me? Or maybe they would just shift the blame to K'Raska. Fools again. Could they not see the Renrijra Krin had its own designs upon this land beyond removing him from the throne? Why did they think those maniacs killed bookstore owners, barbers, imga, prostitutes, guildsmen?

Was K'Raska even still alive? We knew little about what was going on inside the walls now. I could only guess it was not pretty. The Mane may have been unpopular, but even if the majority wanted him out, that did not mean the majority could get behind anyone to put_ in._ What awaited Torval, if it had not already come, was a shattering of the rebellion into hostile factions, to bestow the ravaged city with another couple of years of war. If not that, then Renrijra Krin tyranny.

Fools. The locals were fools desperate to lash out at someone. Now they would suffer by the hands of the men they had, wittingly or unwittingly, fought for.

But what of us? Was our time here over? Was all this pain and violence a pointless crusade? Just a few more dark marks on history?

That was unclear. Maybe we could devise a plan to sneak into the city with all the tricks up our sleeves, but could we be anything more than an annoyance now? There were still farms and villages surrounding the city, which meant some guerrilla hideouts as well, but would picking them off be worthwhile? And moving to another city was probably out of the question, with all this gear, those heavy tubs, the necessity of a secret hideout, and the relative importance of the capital.

But if I were at last to sigh out the colossal decision of retreat, of silent surrender, I could not do it after a few days. Even if things would not change, I need a long time to think about it.

Yet it was still hard to believe it had even come to this. Never had resistance to the Empire been this vicious, this visceral; I had seen men and women fight with us rakes and kitchen tools.

In the Arcane University, I was told foreigners fought us because they hated having us choose their kings, choose their laws, collect their taxes, put our forts in their country. But in Elsweyr, none of that held true. Their king was a product of their own culture's due criteria. Their laws were crafted by their own government. And this would be the one province in Tamriel that did not include an Imperial fort, while neighboring Valenwood _did_. All those factors did not placate the locals, if anything it made them worse.

They might say they were fighting us because we were 'occupiers', but what made us 'occupiers' save for the fact that they were fighting us? We had the blessing of their divine leader, after all.

They would say he just agreed with us because he was a 'puppet,' but what made him a puppet beyond agreeing with us?

It was circular logic that drove this violence, and circular logic with which Elsweyr rode in a cycle of violence and despair.

I exhaled heavily and rested my face on my hand. My eyes caught the a big purple book on my desk, The Art of War Magic.

With no particular objective in mind, I pulled it closer and opened it listlessly. My eyes fell on a familiar page:

**Sedd Mar: Master Arctus advised Tiber Septim before the battle of Five Bridges not to commit his reserves until the enemy was victorious. Tiber Septim said, "If the enemy is already victorious, what use committing the reserve?" To which Master Arctus replied, "Only in victory will the enemy be vulnerable to defeat." Tiber Septim went on to rout an enemy army twice the size of his.**

I chortled sardonically. Defeat had not presented me any winning strategies.


	58. A Dream Deferred

"Fairly recently, however, our struggles to win back our homeland from the rapacious Count of Leyawiin have attracted sympathetic persons, even Imperials, who wish to join our cause, but, it seems, do not understand our ways. Our enemies, of course, do not understand us either, but that is as we wish it, a weapon in our arsenal. Our non-Khajiiti friends, however, should know who we are, why we are, and what we are doing." - Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

Sun's Height 21, 4E2

Subterranean Sanctuary, Tenmar Forest

* * *

It was indeed utter defeat I was living. My greatest ambition, my magnum opus, my dream, what I had gone from paragon to outlaw for, was a failure. Despite all I had poured in to and sacrificed for this effort, I was conceding defeat just like the Empire before me. As predisposed as I was to recant this decision, we had gone over it again and again and again and always come to the same conclusion. It was time to go. The world outside weighed too heavily against theory. Everything that should have been, everything that must have been, was not; I had every reason to believe Elsweyr could rise above its long dark age and join Tamriel in Third, or rather Fourth, Era. But it had failed.

The Elsweyris had run in the face of my idealism. They had played the fools and savages, chased me out for a bit catharsis and masculization, no doubt to be swallowed by the black tide shortly after, ravaged by the monster I had fought to keep at bay.

But I could not think hard about it. I kept focus, and kept myself numb. One day, back in Cyrodiil, or wherever the disgraced Densius Fidelis would settle, I would reflect. But not yet.

I picked up the Dwemer device. I had originally considered smashing these things, but rather than leave an residue for the wrong people to hypothize about, we decided to make them all disappear in one piece. I, and each other "Knight," would walk far from this sanctuary and drop them in the foliage, where they would likely not be found again for centuries.

It was all part of our plan, and a courteous one to the Empire that I had abandoned, to obscure the process of metamorphis, so that these great powers would not fall into the wrong hands. And the most evil men ran rampant in this nation. This nation I thought could be redeemed and reborn.

I walked out the transformation room door, and turned for the armory, just to be safe during the wilderness trek.

I had earned a place as one the most loathed men in Tamriel before being chased out. My mere presence turned housewives and farmers into killers. My image was painted on walls with fangs and bloody mouth.

And what had I done that was so evil? Nothing except fight some of the most tyrannical, blood-thirsty, and petty men in history. People who murdered over jokes and rumors and hair cuts.

Entering, the armory, I looked at the wares. There was little reason to scrutinize the choice. I picked the closest scimitar and headed for the exit.

Despite how hated we had become, I knew _no_ path here would have earned us less contempt. Supporting Do'Dara, a man unthinkable to rule any other nation, in the name of order? I would have been painted an inhumane, iron-fisted racist oppressing foreigners. I was already accused of supporting him for trading with him, in fact, and it was used against me.

Sided with the Renrijra Krin? I would have been (rightly) considered an aid to barbarians, a hypocrite for Cyrodilic values of tolerance and civility overthrowing an elected leader while my nation mourned the loss of its own.

The only way to have avoided this disdain was simply to leave Elsweyr like I had been told (by my wisers?), let the locals get the blood on their hands doing those things themselves. It did not make sense that letting them do something _I_ would be vilified for aiding them in would be morally optimal, and maybe the Khajiit, after the days to come, would curse the Empire for leaving them to their fate, but at least I would be no distinct target for their anger. And back in my homeland I would still be a hero, getting interviewed by the Black Horse Courier or _Believe It!_ magazine, as the Khajiiti problem festered on its own.

Planting myself in front of the stone entrance, I looked at the lever. There was a sharp feeling in my throat, as pulling it almost seemed like my first admission of defeat to the material world.

Yet, after three weeks, the decision was made. We were leaving Elsweyr. So, with glassy eyes, I...pulled the lever, as the rock wall descended with a sound like breaking glass.

Do'Dara's sins, the Renrijra Krin's too, would be lost to history. Who dedicated their lives to vilifying some backwater dictators and jungle-dwelling ruffians? Who could have even gotten inside Do'Dara's little kingdom for some investigative reporting?

But my eyes caught an anamoly in the vault that made me drop what I carried.

Intruders! A thousand needles burst in me. I went for my sword. Quite an ironic time for them, but Elsweyr had jammed in one last battle!**  
**

Yet they were...kneeling. Face down. All of them. A whole gathering, all...submitting themselves.

One in kappa armor. Another in a pit-stained shirt with a crude iron sword. Another, a gray hair Ohmes woman. Another, a Cathay in bulky metal.

They almost all had weapons, but they were sheathed. What on Nirn could this be?

"We need arrow, potions, food sir. We need sharpen our swords and bandage men. We need help." The young, lanky one in the front said. Who were they? How did they get there? There were at least eight of them. This was surreal and baffling.

"Who the hell are you?" I said. Never had those words been used so aptly. There were so many questions!

"We are fighters like you, Densius Fidelis. Fighting the Renrijra -"

"Son," the Khajiit behind him, gray furred and with a piece of his ear nipped off, put his hand lightly on his shoulder and stood. "Let me take it from here."

Then he looked into my eyes. "Densius Fidelis. I am Do'Hassiri. I fight for the Jodavhir Vaasizar Elsweyri." Where had I heard that before? "The Elsweyri Revolution Faction."

To hear that name spoken at our doorstep...Our second worst enemy.

And they were kneeling before me? Why? What was this?

"Much has happened since your departure from the city. The riot in the Sugar Fields District blossomed into the kind of uprising we had once hoped for. We and our allies took control of nearly every district. But when we rebels at last solidified our hold on these districts, the Renrijra Krin rained horrors on our people. They control the liberated districts with the most absurd tyranny." And they had woken up...hours before I was to leave this province for good. "They are an abomination to our race. They murder, torture, rape. They are a scourge on our people." These words, these admissions, were being spoken to me by an arch enemy!

"Nine days ago, we at last retaliated against the Renrijra Krin's attacks on our countrymen. But the fight has not been kind to us. Our supplies are running low. Many of my men are injured. Our blades dull and break and, with the Commerce District under _their_ control, we have little means to resupply." And now this entire army was coming to me...for a proposition? I was in awe.

He looked down briefly in despair, as I felt an odd pang of empathy for my former enemy, then back up. "We control only one piece of the city now, and that is where the uprising started." Where the uprising had started: the Sugar Groves district. Where they had nearly killed my friend with an arrow. And now they were asking for my help, trying to forge a brotherhood. That scratched something deep inside. I felt whiffs of strange feelings.

But first came imperative practicalities. I asked, "What of K'Raska?" _  
_

"We believe the Renrijra Krin may be fighting with the loyalist remanants of K'Raska's forces. We do not know."

There was still hope, then, for Elsweyr's divine King. Maybe a little more than I expected.

I sized up his ragged face. No doubt he and his men at suffered significantly for their decision to aid the terrorists take over the city. Was that payment enough?

Was this any time to be picky?

The lone Elsweyri on his feet then began walking. He circumvented his son and, stopped in front of me, and looked at me with soft eyes. He extended his right hand, causing me to twitch reflexively. But his palm was opened and unarmed. "Densius Fidelis, leader of Elsweyra Sabruhito, will you join us in this fight? Will you and your men aid us in pushing the demon Renriji out of the city?"

What words to hear from a commander (_the_ commander, even?) of a former mortal enemy. All just in the knick of time, swooping down to perhaps save my dreams just before they shattered.

I glanced down at it. My enemy...once a mortal enemy, was offering his hand. Even while I stood armed.

But I was cautious to embrace an alliance with such a man so suddenly.

But it was an extraordinary gift I was presented, almost like a divine cry just before The Knights of New Elsweyr resigning defeat.

And what would I say against this proposition? For all our differences, what was a better alternative?

Yes. We would work together. We would take back the capital, or die trying. Maybe we would not stay friends, and who knows what words we would trade after it was done, but I was being offered a second chance. A miracle.

I brought my clammy hand to his furry one, and grasped it, touching the fur of my enemy. We shook.

The motion set off someone behind me. "Wait a moment! Wait, wait, wait!" Jilheen brashly protested. I turned towards him, his sword still in the air, even as his leader had put his away. "You want us to sell our souls to Daedra, Fidelis? We all agreed the guerillas were scum!"

It was a bit unsettling to hear this questioned outside my mind too, but "This faction was our enemy because they allied with murderers and fought to overthrow a divinely elected leader, and they're doing neither now." Or were they holding unto their vendetta against K'Raska? I rotated back.

"Is that correct? Will you cease aggression against the Mane and his forces." I kept my words firm. My instinct was no negotiation here.

"Yes," Do'Hassiri said, tone pure and stalwart. "We will seek no new enemies as we battle the Renrijra Krin villians." I could believe that. And with no action, K'Raska's days were clearly numbered.

"Assuming the Mane is still alive," Ah-Marz added, realistically. What if he was not?

"We do not know," Do'Hassiri said soberly. That would be very bad if he was killed. Would I still have legitimacy here? 'Divine right' had been my rallying cry. Maybe I would in my own eyes, but less so in the eyes of the people.

But all the more reason to get to this fighting sooner.

Was there any reason to refuse this alliance?

...

...

No. I saw not even a flicker of a reason.

I looked back in the eyes of their leader. His eyes were earnest...if men could really tell such a thing...and if I was not under the influence of a charm spell, like back in Black Marsh.

Experimenting, I stepped back a pace and a half, my men, probably oblivious to the reason, syncing with me. I felt no different. This was no magic.

I would open fully to his people...at least as far as material resources went.

"You said you needed arrows? And bandages? We've got those."

"And food," the man said humbly.

"That too. Some, anyway." Feeding my old enemies, this could have been a dream. But I did not wake.

Then something else occurred to me, one of my biggest queries initially forgotten in the poignant discourse between now and then:

"Just one question: How'd you find us?" A top secret Imperial alchemy laboratory, let alone one turned super-soldier sanctuary, could not have been that easy to sniff out.

"Kastav Antonius," Do'Hassiri replied.


	59. Only in Victory

"Sedd Mar: Master Arctus advised Tiber Septim before the battle of Five Bridges not to commit his reserves until the enemy was victorious. Tiber Septim said, 'If the enemy is already victorious, what use committing the reserve?' To which Master Arctus replied, 'Only in victory will the enemy be vulnerable to defeat.' Tiber Septim went on to rout an enemy army twice the size of his." - The Art of War Magic

Sun's Height 21, 4E2

Tenmar Forest, North of Torval

* * *

"They've been executing and torturing former watchman, killing or evicting all the imga in the city. They've been murdering those who have voiced the slightest criticism of their ways. They've even gone so far as to ban the sale of strength and water walking tonics, and beating those who sell them with no prior warning, because they required ingredients not aboriginal to Elsweyr. They've killed those simply _descended from_ Septim Era collaborators. I saw them behead a child with a shovel myself."

_Mother Mara,_ the Renrijra Krin had got worse. It stood to reason, seeing how as their madness had been tolerated _and_ advantageous this far. Only now was Elsweyr forced to confess who was the real scourge on their populous, now that their stones were being squeezed too hard to afford the luxury of stupidity.

I was walking through the forest with a collection of former adversaries. They outnumbered me overwhelmingly, but this was not a trap, I knew; I was their last hope.

Jilheen had not been so sure, and insisted on coming along. I let him, and left the rest to guard the sanctuary.

Despite his fear of _me_ being killed, the Argonian had made no effort to hide his own disdain for our new allies. His face had been a scowl every time I looked back.

A tucan fluttered across the tree tops. An al-miraj off to the left glanced at us and then hopped away.

"So why'd you throw in with Jodavir Vaaseri Elsweyri or whatever the hell you guys are called anyway?" Jilheen posed to the only Cyrodilic speaker besides Do'Hassiri and his son, a feisty punch in his voice. That was surprisingly brasin._  
_

"I did not fight for the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction. I fought on my own. Lost my tail to a Legion soldier." I did not expect much sympathy from Jilheen-Bolineena, though how surreal that I was hearing war stories from an enemy combatant.

"_Why_? Why fight the Legion? You_ liked_ the Renrijra Krin and the shit they stood for?" I wondered if I was going to have to intervene. Though admittedly I liked his spunk.

"_Hell_ no!" the fat-faced Khajiit countered. **  
**

"Then why fight us?"

"You were crass!" the local shot back.

"Crass?"

I pledged to speak up after the next nasty word, but I would see where this went for now.

"When the Imperial Legion came, I remember my son was drinking fruit juice on the corner with friends. Not hurting anybody, and yet your soldiers pulled him off streets and had him arrested and detained that evening."

An evening detainment? A pretty lame excuse to fight a war.

Jilheen gave only a sardonic laugh. "And?" I was not sure if I should feel admiration or revulsion for his behavior. My insides were as conflicted as those two.

"And when you came to search my house for suspicious items, you barged in without knocking like you owned the place." Uncouth as that was, I could bet even this man now felt pretty foolish with his justifications, considering what his successful defeat of the Imperial Legion had led to.

"You had some of the worst people in the world clawing at your door, and 'crass' was the first thing you fetchers thought to kill people over!?" The Nibenean was sharp. And rude. Maybe I could both put on a display of respect to my old enemies _and_ have him quit while he was ahead.

"Jilheen," I shouted. "Leave the dialogue to me." This was, after all, an important and fragile opportunity. No time for wrestling egos, no time for a political pissing contest. I mentally pledged to stop the next argument.

A monkey screamed. I could feel the two simmering behind me.

I could see the city wall (so the second argument would not likely happen), and the hidden lever, the iconic spot where I had tossed my gored friend into the wilderness with a Torval watchman behind us. After so much time hiding away, I was coming back, but this time in the company of desperate outlaws as their last chance at redemption. I noted, morbidly and sullenly, that stepping inside would be stepping on the ground where the Elsweyri who had saved my life had stood, possibly killed by a person with allegiance to Do'Hassiri.

The guerrilla stopped in front of the lever.

He pulled. The rock wall which had saved me started to descend. **  
**

Had they _inferred_ it could be opened both ways, or had someone seen me use the level to close it? Had I been the one who made them aware of this entrance?

I could see the top of a large head.

As it was half way down, there was a fiery colored, mean looking Senche visible. His beady eyes upon me, his judgement seemed rather unforgiving.

He looked to Do'Hassiri and inquired something in a deep voice, pointing a paw at me. How many people knew I was coming here before hand? Was this built on shakier ground than I had originally anticipated? How smoothly could I really expect our alliance to be taken? **  
**

Do'Hassiri replied and the Senche had a few more gruff words but stepped aside. I had to assume, whatever their opinions of this alliance, they were not up for infighting at a time like this. Who could be? Their existence hung by a thread, and if that thread was severed, they would be at the hands of the most merciless force in Tamriel since the Aylieds.

As our graying leader passed through the tunnel, I was soon to follow.

There were two others guarding this secret entrance. One was a Cathay in citywatch armor (though not the man who saved me) and another was in a mithril suit. Clearly they had their best men guard their backdoor.

Do'Hassiri had turned to make sure everyone got in while I assumed a position next to him, feeling some tension in the presence of the ohters. Hassiri's son, Jilheen, the man in metal, the man in kappa armor, the old Ohmes mage, the man in leather, and the kid with the headband all arrived.

The middle aged catman turned to me and said in a low voice. "We do not even control this district in full. Your best vantage point will be in the tower that holds Kastav Antonius' office." Antonius, the same person who had told them where to find me, the same man who was my last visit before being chased out. How poetic; Though so was this whole scenario.**  
**

I nodded. I followed closely as we headed into the opened.

On the streets, I saw they were bleak and empty. There was a house that appeared crushed by an airborne boulder, and smoke was billowing skyward somewhere in the distance.

I could hear a child crying from within a nearby home.

The Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction was not even controlling an entire district; how long could everyone survive? There was no food supply, and while this province was the capital of the most popular preservative in the world, candy, dried fruits, and pickled meat could only go so far. Maybe the good guys could generously get a little game and wild fruit through the secret entrance, but not much. Not nearly enough for an entire neighborhood.

It was just amazing how bad things had got, how much this conflict had blossomed, how much suffering it had raked in. In Dune, we had thought were just there for a little added security after the Oblivion Crisis, to apprehend a few looters and highwaymen. We had been so wrong.

I swatted a fly and we turned the corner to the poignant poor strip, a site haunted with trauma, ground tarnished by the staff, the atronach, and the beginning of the uprising. I saw the house I had incinerated: maybe that was part of why the locals were so furious at me, but now surely they realized it was small beans.

Had it been the Renrijra Krin who summoned that creature, or just a mad man? Or someone as wise to the ways of Elsweyr as them?

The conjurer had probably escaped justice. Was he laughing now?

How could the insurgents, sans the ones I was working with right now, not be laughing at how this all turned out. It was perhaps the first time in history an army had brought people willing to their side precisely because they were so evil.

We were getting close to the corner, which would put Antonius Sugar in view. His pompous tower was now a key military holding.

I wondered if he had eaten any better than the rest of the populace here. And what about his workers?

We turned.

There was a group of three walking towards us, weapons in hand, the tallest, a Cathay-Raht with a claymore and full armor chainmail, front and center. His face was stern and gaunt, with savage braids irregularly dangling or pressed against his face.

"S'Jirr..." Do'Hassiri said, with a hint of bafflement. **  
**

The Cathay-Raht planted his sword in the sidewalk. The men at his side, in kappa armor, stopped too. What was this? I panicked a little.

"Do'Hassiri," he said in a deep baritone voice. This did not look good.

"What is the meaning of his, S'Jirr? Why have you all abandoned your post?"

The Cathay eyed me with a hot, accusing gaze, then looked back at Hassiri. "So the rumors are true. You've brought Elsweyra Ja Sabiruhto back into the city." This man clearly was even more opposed than the Senche.

"The Knights of New Elsweyr are here to help us," Do'Hassiri stated firmly. But the pact seemed so much more weak and diminutive with this imposing Cathay-Raht.**  
**

"So they have always claimed," the mighty S'Jirr stated cynically, "but arguments of good intentions have always been refuted by the results on the ground."

He was blaming me for the enemy's atrocities. That _deadly_ imperative. "This all happened because _you_ decided to pin the terrorists' crimes on me. If you expended half the effort fighting them as you had fighting _me_, you would have kicked the ass of these Renrijra Krin filth and Elsweyr would be as peaceful as Summerset Isle!"

While there was something slightly liberating about saying those words to a guerilla, there was a small flutter of fear in my stomach. He and his underlings were certainly an even match. "Filth? You and your dog K'Raska are hardly clean yourselves. I have seen what his men have done to prisoners to get them to talk: pulling out teeth, hanging men upside down and beating them, ripping out their claws."

I had never heard such stories, but anecdotes incriminating our side had their usual disheartening influence. Worse, they reminded me of the watchman I had seen captured by the rebels back in Dune: castrated, the soles of his feet beaten, his fingers bent back, his eyes struck blind, all before he had been mercifully sent to other plane with a cudgel to the head. I felt a little foul and shaken inside.

But that did not make us their equal, not by a long shot! "What we've done to enemy combatants holding information is what the Renrijra Krin would do to a civilian just for accepting a bag of rice! What Do'Dara would have done to someone who said an ill word about him in private! What Ri'Kissa's Front would do to those simply _fathered_ by Confederate soldiers!"

I wish it had not come to arguing over such ugly things. This war was not a glorious knights' tale of a war as it first appeared, but he had not proven our moral inferiority.

S'Jirr replied, "Your response is nonsense. I am not glorifying the Krin or that General. They are a problem _you_ brought here."

Again he insisted! "We didn't bring them here! You did it! Every time you took their crimes out on me, every time you blamed us for the enemy's atrocities, you encouraged them! You played right into their hands! Why do you think there were so many senseless acts of violence against the people of Elsweyr by their own kinsmen? They wanted to make life under K'Raska and his liberties look as repulsive as possible. They wanted to stir your anger so you might take it out on the likes of _me_. You _appeased_ them, you _encouraged_ them."

I was quivering, emotions boiling. I could only hope yelling these truths could get through to him.

"K'Raska's reign has been a joke," he scoffed, unhindered. "He is kind and libertine only to the foreign guilds and investors. Thousands have been apprehend and disappeared for his war. He is no better than his predecessor. Worse, in fact."

"He is as heavy handed in war time as K'Dira was in _peace_ time. That's too his credit." It was not pretty the things I was defending, but it always stacked the same way.**  
**

"And what of the foreign occupation you represent?" 'Occupation,' again? Such simplistic dogmatic memes as that causing people to throw away their lives!**  
**

"We have your leaders permission to be here! We're operating with full respect to your nation's sovereignty!" It was amazing how such illogical and destructive ideas could be so faithfully parroted.

The Cathay-Raht snorted, "The Intelligence Agency spying on K'Raska..."

"The Intelligence Agency spies on everyone!"

"The Imperial agents crossing the border into the northern cities..."

To deal with The Natives. My late female friend had known all about that.

I sighed. He had a lot on us. Our fight was not slick as it had seemed in the early days. But even if siding with us required climbing an arduous moral hill, it was juxtaposed by any clear mind against a _mountain_ of evil presented by the enemy. It was time for a little concession. "Look, our record with Elsweyr may not be completely clean. But the Renrijra Krin's mere presence here is illegal by dictate of your own divinely choosen King; They violate your people's sovereignty every second of every day simply by existing!" I had passion in my words, and stalwart dignity, though they were not without a hint of pleading: Pleading for perspective, pleading for him to accept me as bitter medicine for the city's horrific plague.

His gaze was still hard. He did not speak. But I stared into his eyes and continued with conviction. "Look, I know we haven't been perfect here. I know we may not be the most shining liberators or kindest saviors, but..."

"You call yourself such flowery names..." he interjected. "But you took my family with war magics the day you threw Do'Dara off the throne."

Something in me dropped further.

Gods I did not like having this conversation. I may have acted out of necessity, but explaining that to the face of the man whose wife and children I had taken would...

I felt spiritually heavy and deflated.

He added, "The Renrij may be worse, but I curse you and your Empire."

Yet at that I felt a flicker of anger, and that sparked some fight in me! "You want to curse me? Call me evil for how I've done things? Fine, you have the right! But _only_ if you're willing to curse every other fetching person on Tamriel, because they're leaving you to those _worse_ people! I am your only chance at something better than children getting beheaded with shovels on the street! I may be feeding you a bitter meal, slopped onto the floor, but the rest of the world is leaving you to starve! So if you want to curse me and my men, go ahead! But curse everyone else in Tamriel twice!" I finished in a vigorous shout.

The words wrang out, apt, and powerful. I was full of adrenaline and tears not yet risen and anger and sadness. But for the first time in the conversation, I felt like the bigger of us.

Yet his expression, at least immediately, did not change.

"And how do I know your Empire did not sow the seeds of this chaos intentionally? Why would you take such an interest in the well being of our people?"

Such foolishness, even in a time of desperation!

"You think we want Elsweyr to be like this!?" The words flooded out of me like a boiling monsoon. "You think we want a resource rich nation controlled by our mortal enemies on our borders? You think we want a province so unstable that no one dares do business with it? You think we _want_ a criminal breeding-ground right nextdoor to Leyawiin!?" How could so many people throw their lives away to such absurd notions!? For years!

There was a silent stare. Maybe he was starting to see things the same way.**  
**

Were my words at last have an effect?

Was I really near to getting through to him? I had seen the circles and mental gymnastics engaged in by colleagues in the Arcane University when it came to politics, but when the stakes were this high, it tended to command a new respect for common sense.**  
**

For the first time, his hard, beady eyes had shifted downwards. Had I finally delivered a disarming line?

He was going in my direction now. I was excited, but I had to be gentle and not throw him off that path, but rather coax him to keep going.

"Look, I know you may not be fond of me, but I don't want to be here either. Help me destroy these Renrijra Krin scumbags so I can go _home._"

A dragonfly passed between us.

Might those words spark more argument?

Any objection?

No, he continued to be silent.

I felt strange feelings deep in my soul reasoning with someone who would have killed me on sight just hours earlier.

His gaze he gotten even lower, now squarely at the ground, chin turns downward. He inhaled and looked up. "A tempting offer..." he said.

That felt like a glimmer of sunrise.

I continued pushing him along. "Your people are not going to win against the Krin on your own. The past nine days have pushed your faction to the brink. But if we mix our strengths we have a chance!"

I might really settle the spirits of a man who's family I had taken, get him to fight for me, even if his disdain was not gone. This felt strange and poignant.

He was deep in thought. My persuasive abilities had proved mighty. Or maybe it was the immovable glow of truth that was always destined for final triumph, the common sense idealism that struck a hole in the cynical notion that the world was zero-sum. Either way, the redeeming ideas were stirring in his mind.**  
**

"S'Jirr...please step aside," Do Hassiri said in a gentle manner.

There was a pause. What would he do?

Then he did step aside. His underlings followed in kind. **  
**

Incredulity and a new sense of hope flooded me! I had done it! I had saved their lives or my own with words, with simply bringing to the forefront the shining, immovable realities for which I had stayed in Elsweyr. My tongue had proved mightier than the sword!

And we started walking again, past the men I had disarmed with reason behind me. I felt now more optimistic and empowered than I ever had since the The Knights of New Elsweyr was formed.

The highest tower in the district stood in shaken pride against the overcast sky. The whole of the conversation still wrang inside me, though. The tales of torture fouled my stomach. I could not say beating up and maiming captives for information was against my own ethics, but it would be hard to not look like hypocrites when we Cyrodiils talked about civilization and savages.

My insecurities needed to settle, however. I had proven we still held the moral high ground, outloud. And during the War of the Red Diamond, General Abraxas had done things as vile to our own people (burned down towns and murdered prisoners), yet no one questioned who the good guys were in that war. We still had the superior moral ground by a mile.

Just maybe not a mile and a half.

A loud sneeze came from Kastav's tower, where guerilla sentries watched over there little piece of the city.

It was inside that building that I had been offered a hefty reward for my efforts here, and turned it down because I would rather keep my image pristine. Foolish pettiness; Such a stunt clearly did not and would not impress the locals. Why had I expected it would?

Why had this land so long distrusted the Empire?

_"I am not to believe Cyrodiil has suddenly grown a big heart for our people."_

_"Why would the Empire want to bring 'safety and peace to Elsweyr?'"_

_"Why would you take such an interest in the well being of our people?"_

They were convinced we were only out for ourselves and that our objectives here did not aid our self-interest. That is why they did not trust the Empire. But this perception was rooted in our past, in the unchangeable, not in our present actions.

Trying to be a hero here was, perhaps, counter productive. Getting carried on a palanquin by ecstatically adoring locals was a childish fantasy.

Maybe I should have taken that contract, the one which offered twenty-five thousand drakes for making Torval stable.**  
**

Maybe it was not too late.

We were approaching the door. This time there was no front guard. **  
**

Could I sign that contract? Should I ask Mr. Antonius for it again?

There was no reason yet visible to the contrary.

Was the decision made? It seemed like the right thing to do, as odd as the moral dynamics.

And then perhaps I should drop my copy in some part of the city, so someone might come upon it. Likely they would think they had dug up dirt on Densius Fidelis, and expose it, but it would work to build faith in my intentions; not as altruistic but as benevolent. As much as it felt like swallowing medicine, maybe it was time to trade glory for the betterment of Elsweyr, trade hero status I had so dreamed of to aid righteous goals, to do good only in the gaze of the Nine. **  
**

Do'Hassiri opened the door.

Standing with eyes straight forward was the Orcish guard, although his face bore a new sense of fatigue.

Had Antonius and his men eaten much better than the townspeople? If I were to see him, how could I frame the request for the contract? Was I rushing the decision?

We turned the corner.

And there was the Imperial (his skeleton companion behind him with an axe), this time he was in lighter clothing, with stubble and an anxious look on his face. But that broke as soon as he recognized me.

Practically ignoring by guerilla companion he poured forward, put a hand on my shoulder while vigorously shaking mine with his other.

"Densius Fidelis, thank the Nine you're here, son!" the Khajiit had stopped to watch the exchange probably just as unsure where this could go as I was. "I thought you'd left Torval for good!"

A high profile business man expressing affections for an Imperial war criminal; It obviously did not take a disaster like this to bring such sentiments out in Kastav Antonius, but it certainly looked better under these so dire circumstances.

"Do'Hassiri's a good man," he said earnestly. "Things have been hell since you left." Then he glanced to his right, or behind himself, or something, before continuing. "Why'd they bring you to my building?"

"Your tower," I responded. "They want me to survey the region." His lofty construct had become a key asset of war. **  
**

He half-way moved to slap himself in the face. "Oh right, of course. They've got a couple of their boys up there right now. Don't let me impede you, son." He may have been coddled by some of the slimier aspects of the Empire, but I felt he was still a good man at the core, a humble Zenitharian, earning his fortune through doing the things others wanted.**  
**

We got back to walking and passed him and Avita.

But my mind stayed on him, thinking about the contract. I had thought of no reason not to do it. Though I hated to damn my hero status on such short notice, there was no apparent counter-reason.

Do'Hassiri was about to head through a door when I spoke up. "Excuse me, sir." He looked back. "I think I want to talk with Mr. Antonius about something first."


	60. Money and Power

"An Imperial diplomat was not long ago chased from the premises, even though he had been promised an audience with the _khajiit_ ruler. The panther-like Warrior Guard hissed at his approach, bared their fangs, and threatened him to leave quickly, lest they "leak his sugar" into the sand. Our Glorious Emperor, Tiber Septim, has yet to seek redress from the lawless catmen." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Mid Year 21, 4E2

Tenmar Forest, North of Torval

* * *

"I still don't trust these fetchers," said Jilheen-Bolineena gruffly. "As soon as we beat the Krin they'll stab us in the back." Not a possibility I was dismissing, but even entertaining that idea seemed like looking a gift horse in the mouth. That was how low my standards had got for Elsweyr. Victory over the Krin was now my only priority. But, as gloomy as that prospect, it was miraculously appearing I could live to see it.

"Well better they come out on top than the Renrij," I said blandly. Frankly, any form of self-interest in me had almost become a thing of the past. If I could pry this place from the claws of the terrorists, no matter what followed, I would die a proud man.

"Unless they get their hands on the Hist sap," the Argonian added darkly.

"That's why S'Bassa and S'Nirem are staying behind," I restated. Although they had extremely modest and unprofessional combat training. "And the documentation's not there any more, remember?" Still, it was a worthy fear. And an exotic bird made a bizarre chirp that sounded almost like a laugh. But it was important we hit the enemy as hard and fast as we could, and that the Knights of New Elsweyr not hold back or hesitate. The opposition were starving our people out.

The Argonian simply grumbled.

We had a tough evening ahead of us; A battle for the economic hub of the city. Our mission was to make it to the palace gates, hopefully establishing a connection with remaining K'Raskan forces while claiming half the Commerce District and the remainder of the Sugar Groves.

I had retained my human form. The rest bore claws and keenen legs. My advantage would be the staff, as I would ride a Senche and provide a supporting role; My first time riding a Khajiit.

"Wait, that's weird," Ah-Marz said quizzically behind us. I stopped and turned. "My middle finger won't move."

He flexed his avian fingers but indeed the middle one seemed to be somehow jammed.

"Fluke with the Hist sap?" I posed. That would be a first...

"Guess so."

"I swear it's been smelling funny too," Jilheen commented. Could there be a connection?

Either way, it was a minor concern.

For now, at least.

Ah-Marz flexed it a few more times. But there was nothing to do about his dysfunctional appendage so I turned and got back to walking. The secret entrance could not be far. Torval, at least a small part of it, relied on us tonight. I remembered seeing a skinny boy chasing birds for food while I had been planning with Do'Hassiri. They relied on us to end their hunger pains.

At last the stone of the city wall was visible. Contained with in those mighty walls was a vengeful reclamation brewing, snatching the district back from the wretched claws of those the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction had once called friends, and I had always seen as a well-deserving adversaries. Two former allies fighting as enemies, and two former enemies fighting as allies. There was a good chance I could die tonight, but that was better than fading into the dustbin of history.

I arrived at the hidden door. I pulled the disguised lever. The city, the capital, the theater of war, awaited. The Renrijra Krin did not know what they were about to face, who they had brought back, but they were certainly ready to kill...We had the element of surprise, they had the numbers.

What was revealed was a new set of guards. Again, they were relatively well outfitted and of optimal breeds: Cathays and Senches, each armored to one degree or another. Do'Hassiri was out on the streets, currently obscured by the houses. My unit already knew how to split up.

The stones settled and I stepped through the secret passage, back into a civilization plagued by savagery.

Off the wilderness ground and secret brick, my feet touched the dirty backstreets and I went for the space between two dingy houses.

I saw Hassiri on the amber-bathed streets, two clusters of warriors behind him. He saw me, and as I got onto the streets he approached me.

"Densius Fidelis, I have established the teams." Obviously. "Did you brief your subordinates on which groups they would belong to?" **  
**

"Yeah," I replied, and it had felt odd passing on orders from a guerilla. I looked over which one was which, but my attention was quickly snatched:

"Hello Densius Fidelis," a surprisingly upbeat (given the circumstances) female voice rang from a Senche. "This one is An-Kara. It's an honor to make your acquaintance." Surprisingly friendly for a former enemy. She had a harness and was ready, but I turned to look over the rest of her group, that one clearly mine.

There were three Khajiit, but more jarring were three elves, in a row_. _Tension and unease shot through me. These ones, two Bosmer and an Altmer, seemed well-armed; That strengthened the implication they were connected to...whoever the cocky mer making trouble from Colovia to Pellitine were.

Despite my discomfort, how could I really articulate this grievance? It did not seem like a plight Hassiri would have sympathy for. And what reason did I have to distrust these people any more than the rest of the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction?

But at least might I get a bit more information from Do'Hassiri about these specters haunting Elsweyr?

I turned. "Hassiri," I said, getting his attention as he was chatting with a subordinate. I stepped in closer, looked to my right cautiously, and then said "Do you know those mer?" A queer way to put it.

"They're foreign volunteers. Came to fight for Jodavhir Vaasizar Elsweyri. They were some of my few men who knew your native language, so I assigned them to your command." That made sense, but it also meant a cluster of mortal enemies serving by my side...but was working with the rest of the faction truly any different? Something told me it was but...What could I say? That elves like them had killed my friend? That would not surprise him. That they might have been involved in terrorist activity back at my home? Would he care?

"Nevermind," is all I replied before turning. Though I felt a measure of reservation, cynicism, and unease, I returned to the new subordinates that were standing in front of me. I would keep my eye on the mer, but if they were my friends now, they should be my friends as long as the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction was.

According to logic. Not intuition.

I could not afford to be picky at the eve of an important battle, though. Maybe Elsweyr's most important yet.

Now I was commanding my second squadron, as a mere Corporal. And it was even larger than the Knights of New Elsweyr. I had not been groomed for this. But Elsweyr needed me.

Now for officer duties: "Roll call! I need to know everyone's names."

I first pointed to the Altmer with the war hammer and Elven armor. "Athelmar," he said, bearing an accent of Summerset Isle. Aldmeri accent, that was another incriminating sign, furthering my unease. But it was an irrational unease, I had gathered.**  
**

I pointed to the female Bosmer, a swordswoman in steel armor. "Lilimia," she responded, accented as well. Pretty name, but hiding sinister thoughts, no doubt.

Then the male Bosmer, an archer also in Elven protection. "Farwete," he said. Also accented.

I did not like the thought of having those elves behind me, but...the mission came first. The epicenter of this resource rich province was at stake. On to the Khajiit:

"Qa'Ziv," said an armorless Cathay with a sword and shield.

"Tsanna," said a Tojay-Raht girl in iron.

"Baadargo," said a gruff Tojay-Raht with a hammer.

Jilheen and Reesaka had placed themselves at the end of the line. I knew their names, but best they say them outloud for the others.

"Jilheen," the Nibenean said.

"Reesaka," the Black Marsh native said.

That was it, my subordinates. Eight men at my disposal, nine including the Senche who would be my steed. We were about to ride into the biggest battle I had ever seen; A prospect of tension, and a hell of a conclusion to this evening. It had been a long day, and the hardest was right ahead. If I lived, I would probably sleep a good twenty hours after this.

If I died...I would spend my last moments wondering what would become of my dear Elsweyr. So much was still up in the air.

I looked over at the other groups. Collects-Rocks and Ah-Marz were undergoing a similar process under Khajiiti commanders. Do'Hassiri was chatting with an Ohmes in Mithril. All I could do was await his word next word, and we would be charging into the gauntlet.


	61. The Gates

"Senches and their larger counter-parts, the Senche-Raht, play an important role in warfare, serving as steeds for their smaller cousins, and as well formidable soldiers on their own, possessing amazing strength and speed. In peacetime, Senches and Senche-Rahts often make their livelihoods providing transportation for goods and other Khajiit, as well as guardianship and law enforcement." -_Pocket Guide to the Empire, Second Edition, "The Land of the Catmen: Elsweyr"_

Mid Year 21, 4E2

Sugar Groves District, Torval

* * *

No man's land was a desolate and decrepit place: which stood to reason, as neither belligerent had dared ventured into it . A pile of wood was spilled across the road. Crates lay toppled and opened. There was even an arrow sticking out of one of the walls. But it was still a buffer, a symbol that all was not lost and we still had a stepping stone. Although if we were defeated this evening, this buffer might collapse. Though even if it did not, our people could be defeated by attrition. Truly, I had been a last resort to the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction, which brought into question what they would do with me when I had outlived my usefulness.

Still, anything was better than the fanatical Krin: they were the monster created when one side was left unchecked in the war for hearts and minds. If not encouraged to be worse by the transfer of blame to their enemies.

Our squad was to directly assault the gates to the Commerce District. I was to blast them opened with my staff. There were other prongs of the attack, but they were in supporting roles, and they would follow us in from the rear.

We were employing Reesaka and Jilheen to serve as scouts, climbing onto the roves and looking ahead. Though they did not venture a significant distance ahead of us, so as to also make sure we did not get flanked from the alleys.

There was still a ways to go, but once we turned the corner (ahead was t-junction, we planned to go left), we would be officially in enemy territory.

I swatted a mosquito.

And a Suthay peaked around the corner! The first hostile!

He alerted his friends and a squadron of six poured from the left corner, and a similar one from the right! The battle had begun!

Our people could easily handle one of those groups. Two was questionable, so I commanded An-Kara to bow her head while barking at the other to focus rightward, and fired the staff. The guerillas to the left were about to become of no consequence.

It promptly incinerated them. But as the blaze cleared and skeletons fell, I noticed an archer behind the dead, bow readied and the arrowhead staring at me.

I viciously ducked downwards and so did my steed, and the arrow whizzed past my head, and when I came to the archer been taken out by one of our own. The first scare of the battle, but dealt with slickly.

I looked to my subordinates. Jilheen was parrying a Tojay-Raht's strike. Athelmar had just smashed the skull of a Cathay.

A carefully placed frost spell might be of some use, but the frey was probably too chaotic. I could not be valuable in every situation. I would keep watch for reinforcements.

So far the streets ahead were empty. Though at the very least those further behind Renrijra Krin lines must have heard the ruckus, echoing through the previously stagnant city.

Getting behind enemy lines was unnerving, but at least we were not alone. Still, the auxillary prongs of the attack had apparently yet to encounter any resistance, judging by the silence to the north and south.

Two screams in rapid succession followed by silence indicated the opposition had been exterminated. I looked over my men. Some of the hostiles had met rather repugnant fates, but all our men seemed fully intact.

"Alright, let's move up." I said. The first obstacle surpassed. An-Kara got to trotting. Jilheen ran to get ahead.

This whole stretch was eerie, but what was ahead was outright scary, especially when a human riding a Senche was the most obvious target. Thankfully our roof-hopping "Knights" were able to recon ahead of our positions. Otherwise the tension in this situation would be nigh unbearable.

We were getting close to the corner, passing a rat corpse on the sidewalk.

We turned left. No more hostiles visible, but another corner obscured any enemy positions that might be waiting for us. I stopped our group before we crossed the next threshold. Jilheen climbed to a roof, peaking at what was ahead, then dropping back down and reported, "Two archers on a balcony ahead."

I turned to others. "Right. An-Kara, we distract them. Run from alley to alley, make it look like we're advancing. Tsanna, Farwete, shoot them from the ground. Reesaka, from a roof."

A distraction was never a flattering or comforting role in battle, but a decent soldier would not throw his allies to the wolves.

Anything else to do before engaging? No.**  
**

"An-Kara, go!"

There was a lerch, her speed no longer constrained by group cohesion. We crossed into the line of fire as she focused on the nearest alley. I heard the harsh buzz of arrows behind us, the sound as sharp and hard to the ears as the head of the projectile. As mighty as the staff made me, I was just a distraction for now.

We made it, stopping next to a barrel, and she turned back around. Tsanna fired an arrow of her own. I knew our safety could only last a few seconds as we performed our duty. We had to go back into the heat. "Go," I commanded.**  
**

She bolted into the opened again. I heard Reesaka shoot.

We stopped. She turned back around.

I could hear yells and clashing steel north of our position, so evidently the other units had begun doing their part as well. That brought a comforting sense of synergy, but they would have no impact on the immediate vicinity. Arrows were now flying both ways.**  
**

"Go!"

She ran out. She was heading behind some charred ruins.

We made it behind a half destroyed building. She turned again.

Our next target would be behind a house with a boarded window. I wondered if there was a family in there, listening to the sounds of war, perhaps hoping for the first time in weeks.

"Go!" I said, this having become a methodical procedure.

She dashed again. There was a promising cry from the enemy position as we were midway across the street.

We arrived and she turned, and I heard another.

"That's both of them!" yelled Tsanna. One right after the other. A surprisingly abrupt relief. Good. Our distraction might not have been valuable, but everyone: everyone of the good guys, that is, was okay.

An-Kara stepped back out into the opened, and I looked over our unit.

"Reesaka, scout ahead. The rest of you, let's all keep moving."

And the Senche trotted forward, everything so far going smoothly.

The houses in this area were relatively nice. Where the Sugar Groves District met the Commerce District it stood to reason affluence would be prevalent. Athelmar cleared his throat.

Reesaka leaned around the corner we were about the cross, and then, apparently satisfied, went ahead.

Tsanna coughed.

We turned the corner. The next one was close, and Reesaka was already figuring out what was ahead.

"Three archers on the balcony ahead, lightly armored," he stated. Three this time. _Hm._

"I'll take care of them myself," I stated. Easy prey for the staff if they were all together. I dismounted with the weapon. "All of you stay behind." And then I got to jogging.

There was clanging steel and cries of death in the distance. The other prongs of the attack had their own adversaries to worry about. Perhaps they had more to fear than us, not being armed with a weapon like the one in my hand.

I stopped right before the turn.

I would be vulnerable, but I did not need long time to fine-tune my targeting with a device like this.

_Now._

I stepped out, saw the three ready archers, roughly aimed the staff, fired.

I got back to safety just as I heard the arrows' release.

Two arrows bounced off the road, both comically passing through my former position, before the explosion. Three enemies were no more. Or that should be the case.

I leaned out, and saw the blackened balcony, human forms not longer visible as they had been destroyed with brutal promptness, the railings closest to the explosion's core completely dissolved.

What was that, fifteen kills so far?

I turned back and jogged back to An-Kara. I wondered if the elves and Khajiit had ever seen the effects of the staff with their own eyes. It would probably make them a bit uneasy, since that magic might have taken the lives of their friends and brothers.

I remounted.

We resumed our advance. Reesaka mounting upon the roves and moving extra fast to stay ahead. I had cleared the way. We turned. The second corner was not far, and Reesaka was already looking ahead. A pigeon in our path made way, flying out of sight.

"We've got enemies Northward!" the Argonian shouted. "Eight of them! Forty yards! Approaching slowly!"

Eight, that was a lot. But numbers provided little advantage with the marvelous artifact I held.

I wanted to face these ammo-catchers on my terms. "An-Kara, forward!"

She obedient charged ahead. It was a bit mindboggling how quickly we were wracking up the body count.

She stopped as soon as we passed the corner, and I saw the eight. Many swords, many sheilds, a whole lot of people were about to become of no consequence. I fired my staff between the feet of an Ohmes and a Cathay. The only problem they were going to provide today was magicka drain.

The projectile detonated in a furious cloud.

Most were instantly incinerated to bone, while a couple of blackened sods too far from the center of the explosion reeled in throws of death for a few seconds before collapsing to the ground.

That had been a very economical use of the staff. Not pretty, but tactically ideal. And certainly even those who had suffered the most got a better death than any of their captives.

"It's clear!" I stated. We waited for the others to catch up, and then An-Kara continued.

This stretch of streets had given the Renrijra Krin trouble long before we came along I could tell: Wood was scorched. Windows were broken. Doors had been ripped off from their hinges. No doubt unspeakable horrors had been done to anyone who had been taken alive. Now the tyrants were finally facing their recompense. Although they would never face full retribution. Our side was too merciful.

I knew we were about halfway to the gate, and I had mixed feelings on approaching progress. Resistance would get worse, and I guessed the Commerce District would be even more unforgiving. But we had been able to handle everything flawlessly so far, and put a significant dent in the opposing army.

We turned, continued on, when out of an alley came a shocking ambush! A mage appeared from behind a house and set forth a blast of frost at An-Kara! I reflexively, perhaps stupidly, fired at him. An-Kara was hit in the leg but only grunted, while the wizard was soon vaporized in firey over kill I was close enough to feel the heat from.

I did not have much time to think about ammunition or the frost burn before I heard a multitude of battle cries from the same avenue. Cathays, Pahmars, and Senche, poured out, and as I hesitated to fire for a split second, then another, they got into the throat of our group too quickly. I panicked as they began scuffling in a chaotic mess with all of our men. One of the Senches took a barehanded swipe at An-Kara, knocking her in the face, spawning a brief sense of void in my chest, before the belligerent was pegged in the brain by Reesaka's arrow. But I had little time to reflect before hearing "Baadargo's down!"

I was caught in the middle of chaos. I was not sure what to do, armed with a weapon now completely impractical, but my Senche, obviously having her own plans, charged towards the Khajiit who had killed our friend and, while I hung on tight, knocked him off his feet. Then she pounced him and vengefully snapped his neck.

The firebrand girl reoriented, but her next target was brought down by a ground level arrow, and as An-Kara turned to the following, this target was on the verge of being defeated by Lilimia.

And the clashing ended after a thud.

The fight was over.

"Shit, they got Ziv," Jilheen remarked with an exhausted tone.

Amid the mass of blood and dead bodies, two were our own. _Dammit._

And An-Kara had taken some damage, despite her vigorous fighting. "You okay, An-Kara?" I asked with a bit of tenderness.

Her voice baring some strain, "I'll live," she said.

It was a fierce and surprising battle. "Anyone else?" I asked.

I glanced around. Lots of dead bodies, but no injuries besides my steed.

Still, with two of us dead it was an unnerving reminder of the danger we all faced. The element of surprise, at least to the extent it was in our favor, was gone.

"C'mon, we need to keep moving!" I commanded. The enemies were alert, coordinating, and reinforcing. I dreaded what was to come. Two of our people had already seen the other side of mortality. Still, we were nearly to the wall, and that was half the gauntlet. At least the piece of the battle we were assigned.

The streets were temporarily forgiving, having expended their deadly threats upon us. Only a couple more turns and we would get to the gate, but I was prepared for anything between us and that. Sending a handful of soldiers deep into enemy lines to attack a focal point of mobility was rarely a recipe for a safe, reliable mission.

We navigated another turn.

There was a lady hanging from a sign-post, the Renrijra Krin's latest victim. This was a long overdue retribution we were delivering to the people of Torval. Hopefully it would come fully to fruition. We had yet see whether this harsh justice would wipe them off of Torval, or all this killing would merely make their terror briefly recede before fully enveloping the city.

No more opposition yet. But I had a feeling they were clustering at the gate, waiting, which was likely even worse. Yet no doubt the civilians in the rows of houses flanking us were glad to hear the sounds of war, cautiously optimistic, though all of them had cautiously stayed in doors. None of them would dare cheer or assist us, no doubt out of fear of the unspeakable horror the reigning party would subject them to if we were defeated this evening. I did not blame them.

We passed some urban shrubbery. Still no sign of the enemy. We were lucky for now. But the portals would the real test, and I feared for our lives.

The sky was growing gray above us, but tinted with the angry glow of sunset, almost as if to signal our coming. They did not just worry us. Surely we worried them as well.

The next corner would bring the dividing wall in view. My stomach grew tight and queasy.

A spilled create of fruit lied beside one of the houses, a petty piece of destruction mocking the dangers we were about to face.

_Here it comes. _I halted the unit as Reesaka got ahead. I felt fear and thrill in my belly, and vulnerability tingling across my flesh, as I waited to hear of what stood in the way to first checkpoint. My muscles were rock tight.**  
**

"About six of them, three have spears! Ten yards ahead. Maybe more!" the Argonian shouted from the rooves. They had obviously heard that too. But six was not as terrible as I had expected. Not nearly. Though of course there would be people on the wall, but they were too far to be of consequence. I wanted to conserve ammunition, so I was not going to staff them.

"An-Kara, stay back until my word. Everyone else, charge and put down those Krin!" Hopefully this was not a ploy. Though an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach told me it was. Though, unlike some guttural sensations of intuition I had come to know as a soldier, that one had been wrong before.

They charged as An-Kara and I were relegated to a humble but peaceful position out of the way. I always felt a bit guilty sending my men into harm's way without my company, but at least it provided us the closest thing I could have to a rest. Being in such sustained danger made me feel raw and stressed like I had never before.**  
**

There was clanging and yelling. When they all seemed to be occupied with each other I commanded "An-Kara, get behind the frey and give me a shot at the portal." Now I was back to doing my part.

We came out into the opened and she put me in the center of the street while my men and their's tangled.

I took the opportunity to carefully aim for the doors. It was a distant target...

...

Yes. Fire.

The magic ball sailed.

I reangled just slightly for another.

Fire.

We were really getting into the heart of our mission.

I respositioned again.

Fire.

That was enough. I did not want to expend any more ammunition. If two hit, we could make it through.

And I glanced back at the frakas. Lilimia killed one target and flowed to the next seamlessly, immediately putting him on the defensive. Athelmar disarmed an enemy and with a mighty blow turned him into a ragdoll. And Jilheen was dueling with a female guerilla until she took an arrow to the shoulder, which allowed him to finish her off.**  
**

And then it was down to one stubborn foe, a Cathay with dreads, who was promptly outwitted by Athelmar's creative use of his hammer and his skull cracked with that distinct pop.

I looked back to the gate, what we had come all this way for. The magic was still sailing but its direction looked promising. In the mean time, I had to watch all sides, for the ambush that might fill in this suspicious lack of resistance.

The alleys, brimming across the stretch of street, were a tauntingly inviting avenue for reinforcements. But all visible so far was rotting fruit, a toppled pile of wood, and a piece of trash. So I got back to looking at the portal, tight with anticipation but also glad that it looked as if they were all about to hit.

The fireballs began exploding against the doors.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Success. Now the next step took the heat off of us, and put us back in waiting.

"Pull back! Jilheen, keep watch. Tell us when the archers get distracted!"

My Senche began back-pedaling as we all receded. Again, I would be safe while others put themselves in danger. A breather was welcome, but I did feel a small amount of guilt.

I could hear fighting off in the distance, to the south. None to the north yet.

What would tomorrow look like, if our mission was a success? Would a new battle line be drawn, dividing the Commerce District? What if we lost? Would the Renrijra Krin finally charge into our half of the Sugar Groves District to eat up the dregs, subjecting their former allies to horrible vengeance? What if the Renrijra Krin had overrun the palace? Then when would this battle end? My soul ached at that thought.

"They're distracted!" Jilheen yelled. It was over.

"Forward!" I commanded.

And the unit began moving again, towards the hurtle, the half way mark. The archers were firing rightward, and then some leftward. The men they aimed at were currently simple distractions for our purpose, pieces of meat dangled by a string. One of the archers turned our way, but his life was quickly snatched by one of our men. I was tempted to assist them, fire some shots between the turrets, but we also needed make sure their efforts were not in vein.

A couple of swordsmen had moved into position to blockade the entrance. The Renrijra Krin was on the defensive now. A long time coming.

A spear wielder, and then another, came to add to the guardianship. How big was this human barricade going to get?

Either way, that only meant more tragic prey for the staff. And for the same reason, I would wait until they were more plentiful to fire. The Commerce District had to be lousy with Krin, being that it was the most important part of the city, and one of only two entrances to the Mane's district.

A couple of Pahmars came to join. Most of these fools were going to die without even a chance to fight. I could not help feel a twinge of pity.

We would soon be close enough to get hit with a thrown spear. I would make sure to stop An-Kara before that, and then take out all the guerrillas that had gathered before us.

And sooner than I expected, a spear was thrown our way. An-Kara skidded to a stop. It landed too early, bouncing upon the road. A coward's mistake. "Stay!" I commanded to An-Kara, unfortunately sounding like I was talking to a dog. "Halt!" I commanded to everyone else. The staff would deal with this.

The spear lobber was dashing eastward but the others stayed in place. Did they know what was coming? If so, they were fine with being martyrs. Their deaths might seem in vein, but every bit of energy this super-weapon lost counted in the long run. Perhaps that was their strategy. I aimed the staff. They still did not budge. A poignant display of nobility from my adversaries.

I fired in the middle of the pack, and they remained stoically stationary. The Renrijra Krin were many things, but cowardly was not one of them...even if their pamphlet glorified self-preservation.**  
**

And the ball of flame burst. They were consumed by a furious cloud, immolated into charred skeletons that clattered limply to the ground. Solemnly, the greatest service they could give to their masters was making me expend magicka. Perhaps that is why they had not moved. But the staff would still see many more days.

"Onward!" I cried again, and my Senche got to galloping. It was clear for now. But there were plenty more men in the Commerce District. I tensed as we approached the stone arch, marked by the scorched remains of the portals and its guardians. The streets ahead were currently empty, but that could not remain true for long. There was a whole other army waiting for us in the next district.

We approached the smoking ruins and An-Kara lept. But in the air something terrifying emerged into view out from a dark window. An arrow!

She landed, and I cried her name. There was a tormented pause of no more than a quarter of a second and as she was about to veer away, the arrow cracked through her skull.

Her soul left her body with that disturbing haste, and her weight sent her tipping leftward.

My legs harnessed to her, I was carried along for the plummet. I gasped inside as I was at the mercy of gravity.

I broke the fall as best I could with my hands, but still hit the hard road. With heart racing, mind in panic, I clawed my way out with cut and dirty palms, all while the archer's gaze was likely on me, taking aim at his next victim with tiger eyes. I feared for my organs. I heard an arrow flying from our side too, but wasted not a second getting to my feet and dashing clumsily into safety, that I might avoid the same fate.

An arrow whizzed past my back as I made it to cover, shaken and breathing heavily, the mystery of the afterlife to wait another day for me.

Not so for An-Kara.

Another arrow flew from our side.

I was scraped, dirty, bruised, unnerved, and sweaty. But for now I was safe.

We had breached the half way mark, but we had just lost our third person, and the one I had been most intimately acquainted with during this battle. That was a significant dent, and we were still set to face ample opposition.

"He's down!" Tsanna yelled.

That provided some small comfort. But An-Kara was down too. And we still had another half of this to go.


	62. Pesky Foreigners

"The Khajiit show remarkably enlightened indifference to graves being uncovered. It is said that in the port of Senchal, one may purchase anything one desires. This is true if you desire fresh corpses." - On Preparation of the Corpse, "Volume One: The Acquisition of The Corpse"

Mid Year 21, 4E2

Commerce District, Torval

* * *

I ducked as the axe passed my head with a furious swoosh, then rose and began desperately back-pedaling before a sudden and unexpected sight emerged through the Cathay-Raht's torso: A reddened sword.

The catman looked down with horror, and Jilheen callously withdrew the blade as the once mighty Khajiit fell to the ground, face bluntly hitting the street.

Was that all of them? There had been quite a few.

Observing the peace in the immediate vicinity, that had been the final kill. A litany of dead bodies littered the immediate area: Pahmars, Tojays, Suthays, Cathays. But none of them were my allies. It had been a fierce fight this far in, but we had not lost any more men.

We were close to the Mane's palace walls, and our scouts on the rooves seemed to think the good guys still held that section. That was a very welcome prospect.

"Keep moving!" I commanded.

The last time I had been upon this path, I had not been running past corpses, and the house we were passing had not been burned to the ground.

There was another body visible ahead, this one a Senche in city-watch uniform and not our doing. Flies surrounded it, so it was not a recent kill.

As the unit approached the next corner, Reesaka shouted from above "Archers! Four of them! Two each in opposite alleys."

We stopped.

Stepping ahead would be highly risky. Thank the Nine we had those eyes ahead. _Hm._ I could use the staff to take out one pair then leave the others to my men. Though may be expending more charge was not necessary; the bandits were on the ground, meaning they could be ambushed from above. Yes. Another perk of the Hist sap. Ambush one pair from above, take out the other with our own archers.

"Jilheen, pounce the ones on the right. Tsanna, Reesaka, Farwete deal with the ones on the left; Wait until Jilheen is right over his targets!"

Tsanna and Farwete got ready, tiger eyed, moving to the threshold. Four more enemies standing in our way to be eliminated quickly and cleanly. Just one brief plan made another set of enemies of no consequence.

And as soon as he hit the ground, causing panicked vocalizations from the enemy, the Bosmer and the Khajiit began firing, taking down one. They reloaded, as Reesaka shot his own arrow and killed the other.

"They're dead," Reesaka said.

"Damn straight," the other Argonian added, and I heard him jump back up to resume his position topside. If the good guys did still hold the palace, this was almost over. The fight through the Commerce District, despite some hair-raising close calls, had been a surprising triumph.**  
**

"Hey, I think I see them! The Mane's people!" he shouted. Thank the Nine! Refuge! Those were beautiful words.

"Let's go!" I said happily, and we began jogging forward again, this time with newly invigorated spirits.

"Yeah, its definitely them!" he added. "I'm dropping down."

And he did, hitting the ground, getting prostrate again, and then pausing to let me get ahead as Reesaka followed suit.

I noticed a the smell of death as we approached the next turn. Likely we had just crossed into no man's land, and any bodies that were made in this small neutral zone, everyone was afraid to step out and move.

Since we were going to approach armed men I did not want to fight, I slung the staff back upon my back.

Turning the corner, now visible were the exotic and beautiful orange uniform of the Warrior Guard, which I had seen only once before. They were a symbol of the regality and order Elsweyr so desperately needed. They had a few men on the ground, and a few between the turrets. And my emergence had sparked a buzz of chatter, before a voice from an Ohmes above boomed, "Stop there! Who are you? All of you?"

I halted. "Densius Fidelis. I'm working with the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction, but don't worry, we're on your side." Quite a piece of news for them too. The Ta'agran had turned to a buzz of whispers.

"Jodavhir Vaasizar Elsweyri?"

"Yes," I said. "They've broken away from the Renrijra Krin. We just busted out of the Sugar Groves District, and I was sent here to establish a connection with your forces." Probably even more startling to them than it was to me.

He yelled something to the Khajiit below and then looked to the side to talk to one of his comrades. But it was brief, and he turned back to me. "Understood. You're a trusted ally of the Mane and we can't afford to be picky." His Cyrodilic was quite good. I wondered if he had been one of those "ambassador" Ohmes before signing up for the Warrior Guard.

This was mission accomplished. Our long, hard journey, the many trials, had finally come to an end. We could finally feel pleasure after all that pain. Not so for An-Kara, Qa'Ziv, and Baadargo sadly, but for me, my brave Argonians, Tsanna, and these shady elves.

I was almost past the spikey barricades (I had forgotten the proper term) which provided a sense of safety and comfort. The Cyrodilic speaker had disappeared briefly, but re-emerged to cast a rope down to the area in front of the portal, which he grabbed and began descending.

I stepped past that precious line, into the company of many intrigued feline eyes. There were a total five soldiers on ground level, with a clay pitcher of water and fruit on a table. I wondered if any of these men had seen me the first time I came to the palace. Either way, Densius Fidelis and the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction, especially together, were quite the sight.

The Ohmes hit the ground, spoke some Ta'agran to another a Suthay-Raht, and then turned to me.

He extended his hand for a shake, and I shook it. It must been great to see a new friendly face. "Your offensive has been a miracle. The enemy forces have been trying to break our lines and so far they've done a damn good job. There aren't even twenty of us left, including what you see here. And remember, we've got two sides to cover."

Twenty. That could not be good...at all. I sunk inside. The glory of my accomplishment had been quite diminished: while we had succeeded, the additional help we had found was not going to make our job at claiming this district much easier.

"How've you been holding up?" I asked. Though that question had a somewhat obvious answer.**  
**

"They've been chipping away at our forces on both sides. Taking down our men one by one, not allowing us to let down our guard for a second. It's been hell." Picking people off. Hit and run tactics. Classic Renrijra Krin, a throw back. "Snipers, suicide charges...also a copious number of undead. There's a cemetery not far from here. Larass Te'ashi. That's its name. That's probably where they're raising them."

"Any other intel you can provide?" I would hate to come back with only fifteen more warriors and some trivial information.

"Nah, we don't know much. We've been holed up right here, defending the doors. Not sending out any reconnaissance." Stood to reason. If they were not going to reinforce our reconquest of the Commerce District, I was not quite sure I could say I had accomplished anything. This put me in a funny spot, one I had not really considered. Technically I had done my assigned duty, but it did not seem very honorable to sink back behind friendly lines yet, when all I had done was say hello to some old friends.

"Maybe we should hit La...whatever that graveyard is called. You can provide directions, right?"

"Right now!?" Jilheen interrupted petulantly.

I turned back. "We can take a few minutes to rest and collect our thoughts. But we still have people fighting and dying behind us, so this is no time to call it quits."

Then the Ohmes' spoke again. "I can certainly set you on that path. In the meantime, what's our is yours, Fidelis."

Except for his subordinates, I could presume. These results were not the terrifying prospect of coming across a palace full of Krin, but they were...mediocre; A mediocrity I had not imagined.

But I _was_ thirsty, and that would be a humble fruit of this oasis. I went for the pitcher. I poured myself a cup of whatever I was going to drink (it was water), and then chugged it down like whiskey.

I looked over my underlings.

Tsanna had already dropped onto the dirt to sit. The others were standing.

My first impulse was to take a seat on one of the rickety looking chairs, but I probably had the least tired legs, due to my late steed, so I simply stood to rest.

The others took my stagnancy as an invitation. Jilheen came forward to take one of the chairs. The burly Athelmar followed right behind him.

Picking the brains of those elves was also something coming back to mind, though I did not know when that could take foremost concern, as I had no idea when this evening would be over for us. It _was_ starting to get dark. Maybe I could justify calling it quits when the sun fully set, as the Khajiit would have an advantage over me at that point.

I could hear them taking drinks behind me.

Then Jilheen spoke. "My legs have been feeling wonky this whole time." Weird thing to say.

"What do you mean?" I turned to him.

He paused for a second. "It's like they ache and feel numb at the same time."

Even weirder. "Ache and feel numb?"

"Yeah..."

That was the strangest complaint I had ever heard. Either way, who knew what the keenen experienced after a long day of running and jumping. Maybe it was the product of overwork. Maybe some rest would help.

I looked to my other Argonian, Reesaka. "You holding up alright?"

"Fine, sir," he said. He was never much of a conversationalist.

In the distance, there were Ta'agran commands, screams, spells, and clashing metal. I would not rest greedily. I wiped some sweat off my brow.

Farwete walked over, wiping his brow as well, passing me and then pouring some water for himself. He drank, hit the table with his cup, and then he started chatting with Athelmar.

Their foreign nationalities made me think of another outside province: what was happening with my old friend Black Marsh? Was the Empire taking rich advantage of the new territory it had access to? Were businessmen being allowed into the depths of the province to pick a cornucopia of new ingredients to sell or study? Or was Ocato being stingy with the substances that allowed access to Argonia? After all, Black Marsh was the epicenter of the super-soldier program, and that program could-

There was a startlingly horrible scream not far from our position as someone met a cruel death. Good guy or bad guy, I did not know. I only knew I would be calling an end to this respite soon, either to save lives like that one, or to make sure we could snatch them before they took any of our's.

This was a mindbogglingly bloody night. We had put down at least fifty hostiles making it this far. And how many had the Renrijra Krin killed before we got here, cleansing their territory of the 'unpatriotic?' This city would wreak of death by the time it found peace. Burial alone would a nightmare. Back when the Legion was here, all the cadavers would be dumped in a uniform body count to be reported to the press. The Legion would be interpreted as the people who took most of those lives and we would be vilified for what was mostly our enemy's doing. But now-

I heard an explosion crack the air like thunder, and a thousand little bits of wood rain down.

People were dying while I stood stagnant. We had rested enough. Lives were at stake.

I turned to the Warrior Guard Ohmes. "Can you tell us where the cemetery is?" No doubt those words perked up my men.

"Yes, but...I've been considering a request...would you provide your archers to reinforce us?"

Really? _We_ were expected to reinforce _them_?

"All of them?"

"We need more. You've got three. I really don't feel comfortable with our numbers." This seemed a little greedy, especially after I had agreed to do them another favor. Although doing that favor did mean I would not stay here.

"How close is the graveyard?"

"You know where the alchemy shop is, right?" Yes, the one which had sold me the bad potion which nearly got me killed. Not that I held any grudges.

"Yeah."

"It's right behind there, sir." And I recalled.

That was still a significant distance. Going into combat without bowmen was dangerous.

Noticing my hesitation, the commander amended. "What about that staff? I've heard what that thing's capable of."

"What about it?" I asked defensively. Was he really going to ask for _that_?

"Give it to us. We'll hold onto it until you get back. Then we can just take _one_ of your archers. How's that for a deal?"

This guy was being rather brasin. Who was he to try to cut a 'deal'? I would rather not give the staff to a member of another army.

Although...the Mane was the most important thing in Elsweyr.

"I'll give you an archer..." I replied with some reluctance. Farwete would probably be the best to get rid of; I would feel better with the elves separated. "But..." putting the staff in the hands of a foreign soldier felt like trusting a stranger to a diamond. Maybe I could give it to one of my Argonians and have him stay back with it. Reesaka. That would free up my hands, too**.**

I swiveled back to my subordinates. What a day they had accompanied me through! "Reesaka, have you ever handled a staff before?" Now I felt kind of stupid banking on that. Perhaps I needed to rethink my plan.

But he nodded! A pleasant surprise.

"Really? You feel confident you can use this wisely and accurately?"

He nodded again.

"Alright. C'mere." I stretched out my hand to offer him the staff. He began walking towards me. I was a bit unsettled to give up my baby for the first time during this battle, but the Warrior Guard knew what they were dealing with better than I did.

He took it, and I turned back, saying, "I'll give you Farwete, the Bosmer, too." Kind of poignant and ironic that a Bosmer should be the one to fight along catmen to defend the Mane. Not that I thought there was anything beautiful about Farwete.

"Thank you kindly, sir," the commander said. "I'll use them well." _  
_

So this was it, both sides were set with their new arrangement, for better or worse. I rotated again. "Everyone else, on me." And, with hands now naked, I began walking to the backstreets we would cut through. I brandished my sword. We were heading back out of safety, making it between the building, jogging through the alley coated in the angry glow of sunset. This time we were not running right into the enemies face, but we were not as well equipped either.

Ahead, colorful pigeons were strutting back and forth, luckily not belligerents in this war, though they flew away as we approached. A capybara was sniffing a piece of bread, and it likewise evaded our approach. The alleys were a nice bit of cover in a warzone, though I had no idea how many guerillas we would have to deal with on the next main road.

What would the city look like when this battle was over? I had a feeling this would be a long, noisy night. But, as we had made it this far, I felt confident we could take the Commerce District, even if this night brought a lot of grief. And even if that still left four districts in the hands of the terrorists.

I came out into the big, wide, mainstreet. No sign of hostiles yet. That was a relief.

There was some big, red graffiti on one of then nearby houses. Thankfully, I could not read Ta'agran. There was also a raggedy beggar lying face first; Probably dead from a skooma overdose. In Cyrodiil I would have checked on him, but this was a battle: no time for that. Not to mention it was possible he could yell and alert the others to our presence.

We passed him as the sounds of war raged to our left. We were out of the way, but our numbers were small, so our safety could change very quickly; I had taken a significant risk leaving two squadmates back with the Warrior Guard, and definitely felt a little more nervous because of it.

But for now, the enemy was distracted by the mass of former allies pouring through the portals I had blasted opened. Because of that, despite us marching through the city streets in daylight, this might qualify as a covert operation.

A troop of archers ran across the street and we froze.

Fortunately their eyes seemed foolishly straight ahead. Good. _Don't look left._

I deflated after they passed.

That could have turned out very bad: At least one of us would have ended up with an arrow sticking out of him, and it chilled me to reflect. I felt even stronger 'second thoughts' on abandoning my staff to the Warrior Guard.

Not only would it be better self-defense, but better offense as well: if I had immolated those archers I could have saved our people to the west a lot of grief.

A young, lanky straggler came out of one of the alleys. He _did_ notice us. He turned to the side but Jilheen pounced him and tore into his throat before I could even think to take action. It was a brutal display, the animal parts making us more feral in manner, but just another kill. He rose with bloodied talons. We just kept moving.

I was starting to feel some resentment towards that Ohmes, because if that straggler had cried for help, we would be in a tense situation.

Maybe I had been spoiled by the power of the staff, but we were behind enemy lines here, a claim I could never have made at any other point in my career.

There were stains on the sidewalk; Blood, I presumed. The denizens of the other five districts would have plenty of horror stories to tell when the Renrijra Krin were pushed out.

I knew the shop was close.

We approached the corner and turned. Flies were circling a little piece of...something. That was left to disturbing ambiguity.

We turned again, the alchemical shop was in view. It had been a surprisingly safe journey, in retrospect. I noticed the doors of the shop, and the adjacent, had been busted down.

Actually, this was fortunate. It meant we could get inside and get a good view of the cemetery.

But I stopped, as first we had another main street to cross. I had to check for enemy movements. I pressed myself against the corner house to the right and leaned around, tensing a bit and thinking an in-articulated prayer.

And yet the way was clear. Fortune had been merciful again.

"Let's head into the shop, check out the area through the back window." I said. Maybe the store would have some free potions for us to use. They would be labelled in Ta'agran, but Tsanna could translate.

I ran for the abandoned establishment with my subordinates in tow. I hoped the proprietor was alright...or rather, that he was dead, given what the Krin did to captives.

I arrived.

There was broken glass on the floor, one shelf hanging at an angle. The proprietor had not left without a fight. But the thugs running this district had not left without all his merchandise either. All of it. Oh well.

I circumvented the counter and got to the window. We would avenge him as best we could (even if he had sold me a bad potion which had nearly been my undoing). It was time to see what we had to deal with.

I spied two skeletons with bows and three zombies standing idle, waiting in a cluster. Beyond them it looked like there were...two necromancers, at least one female, in front of a table...working on a body, with chemicals, tools, and cloth handy.

I did not know much about necromancy, but anyone could gather they were preparing for their next attack.

Not a terrible challenge, but there were a lot of ranged threats assuming the necromancers knew destruction magic.

Jilheen-Bolineena could, perhaps, jump down from the roof and land in the throat of the undead and Tsanna could, perhaps, come from the west and fire at the magisters with me. While the elves poured in between the two shops? That seemed like a good plan. But we need to chronologically coordinate so none of us would spend much time unsupported.

Who should be the first to engage: Jilheen or Tsanna and I? Probably Jilheen, since the undead would make effective meat shields for any attacks from the necromancers. Then Tsanna would fire and I would cast, and the elves would charge in through the alley. That was the plan, we were about to wrap up this assignment. Then I could get my eager hands back on the staff, hopefully with no hostile encounters between then and now.

I turned again to my awaiting underlings.

"Alright, here's the plan. Tsanna and I will wait in alleys west of the graveyard to target the necromancers. Jilheen, you pounce that cluster of the undead from the roof. That will signal us to began our assault, and as Tsanna and I start firing, you two mer pour in from between these shops. Everybody good?"

No looks of disapproval and a couple of nods.

"Tsanna, follow me."

I walked back past the counter and the others took the signal to start walking too. I passed the cob-webbed corner and through the doors, back into the street. I looked left. Still no one, thank the Nine, and turned right.

A rat scurried by as we passed the other store, the next alley, and the small, dingy skooma den. Kind of a morbid, inopportune place to set up businesses, right outside a graveyard. The proprietors probably got stuck with the dregs buying lots.**  
**

A lightening spell flew overhead. This certainly was not a prime time to _be_ a business man either.

We turned the corner. "Tsanna, that one," I commanded, pointing between two houses. I would take position in the next space.

She proceeded as told. I jogged past her, to assume my own position nearby.

I headed into the alley and got behind some crates, remembering the locations of the necromancers, and waited, muscles and mind taught for action. Once Jilheen-Bolineena made the jump it would be time to literally work my magic. **  
**

Meanwhile, I heard only what was behind me: Arrows buzzed, steel clashed, spells flew, and men and women died.

Then feet hit the ground and the zombies groaned, roused!

I ran to get into firing position. Tsanna released her arrow.

Her arrow pegged the female in the back, while I aimed for the other. I cast as he turned, and we made eye contact just before he was hit in the chest and stumbled backwards.

An ominous sound of impact and thud, however, snatched my attention. "Tsanna!" I cried. There was a skeleton facing in her direction reloading its bow while Jilheen was slicing the other undead. I moved to cast at the killer, even though spells were highly ineffective against skeletons. It only grinned, dumbly, callously, tauntingly at its target.

The cloud hit, and it looked at me with empty sockets right before Athelmar, who had vaulted over the cemetery gates, smashed it to useless pieces in final justice.

Jilheen and the two elves were making quick work of the undead and had distracted the remaining necromancer. Tsanna became my priority.

While the chaotic skirmish played out, I ran out of my alley to get to hers. The fact that she did not scream going down was a bad sign.

I saw her on her back, stiff. Very bad. An arrow was sticking out right above her sternum. It was deep in, likely had broken her spine. Very little hope. I rushed over, but what I saw was coldly unsurprising; Her eyes were wide and her gaze frozen. She had to be dead. But I bent to check her pulse just in case, while spells flew and bones crunched behind me. It was nill. Another of ours down, and when I did not expect any more casualties.

But behind me was the distinctive pop of a lethal blow to the head, a rough thud, and then only the crickets. I turned saw my men had finished the battle.

I walked out to see our solemnly victorious horde, their guard fading as they lowered their weapons.

Everyone seemed alright, except something odd was going on with Jilheen. He remained stationary, looking at his legs. "Jilheen, you okay?" I asked. They were not bleeding but...**  
**

He looked worried as he turned to me, a rare sight for his face. "Fidelis I..." he began. What the hell was going on. _Spit it out!_ "I...I can't move my legs. I don't...I just can't move them."

They did not look injured. What the hell? I felt a mix of panic and frustration at...whatever was going on. I climbed over the fence and jogged towards him to have a look.

I stopped in front of him, and looked them over. "You...sure?"

He nodded. "They're just...stuck like this."

In all my years with the Mages Guild I had never heard of any sort of spell that paralyzed only part of the body. If this was the beginning of some Renrijra Krin ambush why the hell had it not started yet? _Why don't they get fetching on with it!_

But with frustrated curiosity, my mind shot to the elves. If anyone knew rare magics, it would be them. And, incriminatingly, they were talking in hushed voices between each other.

I turned to see them, just as Athelmar finished stealing a glance at us.

Those bastards had finally stabbed us in the back, however they managed, and not a moment too late!

I stomped forwards, full of feral combativeness. "What did you do? What are you talking about!" I demanded. The Altmer glanced my way and then continued chattering, this time it coming more in quick whispers. They were pretty damn braisin. Was there something I was missing, some additional other upper hand they had? But that thought did not give me any inclination to back down.**  
**

Right up behind Athelmar, I pushed him to face me. "What are you tal-"

And then his hand was on my head and he was using his mighty strength to send my skull flying into a gravestone.


	63. Lost Time

A/N: Friends, at long last...this story is nearly at a close. Only a few more chapters remain. It's been a whale of a novel...many plot threads and themes got, unfortunately, lost in the ocean of words, and a few things were under emphasized. And while my vision has been mostly intact, many things are also not as they were planned from the beginning.

As this story comes to a close (and likely after), I'm going to go back and make some revisions. Not tremendous revisions that'll you'll need to reference to understand the plot, but subtle ones to make this story tighter and more thematically consistent, and tie up some lose ends that would otherwise be left...well, loose. Nothing jarring, you fill feel no deprivation if you miss these adjustments, but just little notches here and there to polish the tale.

Writing this beast has been one hell of a labor of a love. I've sacrificed, or at least put off, many other stories I wanted to tell to keep all my focus on this. Thank you for coming a long for the ride.

* * *

"

To AKATOSH whose perch from Eternity allowed the Day.

To KYNARETH who returns the Masculine Breath.

To DIBELLA who pay Men in Moans.

To ARKAY who braves the Diminuendo.

To JULIANOS who incants the Damned Equation.

To MARA who fills the Empty and drains the Stones.

To ZENITHAR who Provider of our Ease.

To STENDARR who suffers Men to read.

"

-Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Height 14, 4E2

Barracks, Subterranean Sanctuary

* * *

I coughed at the sensation of cold water in my throat and shot up from bed! A hundred new sensations were flooding me! I had been taken out of the battlefield in every possible way.

Analyzing what I saw, I had been sent back to the barracks. The Argonian who had been nursing me...my memory was fuzzy though...Ah-Marz! Yes! The twenty-one year old, who grew up in the Imperial City. I knew I had done something rude knocking that bowl from my mouth and planned to apologize once I could stop sputtering.

That elf had delivered me a nasty blow to the head, but not a fatal one, evidently. I was blessed to be alive, as I recalled the biceps on that mer...Athelmar. With the Bosmer Lilimia. But I had so many questions.

"S-" I started, but was immediately re-enveloped with coughing. I saw I was under the covers in my night clothes on. "S-sorry." I got out, and then immediately got back to hacking.

"No need to apologize, Fidelis. We thought you were never going to wake up!"

The door creaked opened and I noticed two others...Collects-Rocks and Reesaka, peak in, and then step in with curious eyes.

What had happened before? I had been in a graveyard...with the elves. Told to go there by an Ohmes in the Warrior Guard.

The elves...had betrayed me. After Jilheen-Bolineena had been paralyzed by some mysterious doing. **  
**

What happened to him? Was he still alive? What of the battle? There were so many questions that I only wished I could stop coughing to ask. Had he killed them? Had anyone killed them? Jilheen was not among those coming to see me, was that proof he was gone? S'Nirem and S'Bassa had even come now, but not Jilheen!**  
**

As my coughing started to die down, I pushed out some more words with teary eyes. "What happened to Jilheen?" Was all that was managed to get out before returning to my coughing fit. There was so much I wanted to know, filled with urgent, brotherly concern.**  
**

"We don't know," Ah-Marz stated. "When you didn't come back the sent people to check on you. They found you unconscious, Tsanna dead, and everyone else with you gone."

They had to have taken him! Paralyzing his legs was the precursor, however the hell those tricky bastards had done it!

"The-" those words set off a string of respiratory muscular contractions again as I got ahead of myself. The Argonian waited patiently, but I was more frustrated with my inability to speak. When my throat came back under my command, I cleared it and continued. "The elves! They must have taken him!" I finished the last words weakly, swallowing another cough. "Jilheen's legs got all funny...like paralyzed or something. I thought they had something to do with it. When I confronted them they smashed my head into that gravestone!" That valuable information had been locked away in my head for...how much time? Might we still track them down? "They must have taken him!" I said, having come back into the world with fiery spirits.

"Are you sure?" he said with a substantial incredulity.

"Yes! Yes! They were acting suspicious after his legs got stiff! They were the ones who knocked me out!" Trying to refill the void of information they had been without for...how long?

That was the next question to ask. The fact that my head did not ache, I realized, was a bad sign. I was suddenly dreaded the answer. If it had been more than a day our chances of ever finding him were slim.

"How long have I been out?" I tightened in suspense. It had to be more than a day.

"About three weeks." Ah-Marz stated flatly.

That was stunning, and hope for Jilheen-Bolineena sunk away.

With three weeks lost, those mer had to be a hundred miles away by now. Only dark thoughts came to mind. But we could not give up on him!

"So you don't know anything about those elves?" I asked pressingly, almost pleadingly.

"Reesaka said their names were Athelmar and Lilimia. An Altmer and a Bosmer, right?" I nodded. "That's all we know."

I sunk again. _Dammit_. But what could I have expected?

"They must have taken Jilheen," I said again, like a childish chant. "After they put a spell on his legs!"

"Maybe it was a fluke with the Hist sap," Ah-Marz responded. Where had I heard those words last? "It's been acting up. We stopped using it. I think it's getting dangerous."

That was another piece of bad news. "What do you mean?" More darkness crept its way into my mind.

"It's been...making errors in the transformation process I guess you could say. Sometimes when we came out a limb would be numb, or there would be little tumors. I actually had to amputate my big toe."

Amputation? That was quite serious. How could the Hist sap be going wrong? No one could possibly have snuck in and poisoned it.

"Every tub?"

"Yes."

Another misfortune I had come back to the world to greet. But how...why...

Perhaps it had simply spoiled...like meat or fruit or potions, like all organic things eventually did.

So the Knights of New Elsweyr had abandoned their mark. Only the staff, I assumed we still had that, made us a unique fighting force now. The implications of that were vast, but first it brought yet another a painfully important question to mind, that had so far been neglected in this ocean of mystery for a surprisingly long time.

"Did we win the battle?"

"Yes." Ah-Marz said. Relief washed over me. Solid good news. "But the Mane was killed in the chaos." Then my spirit went to a deep, gloomy place. He was Divine Right, the battle cry of our fight. The Argonian continued, "King Ejabi runs the show now here in Torval. And he's been assigned command of the Confederate military."

After all that, all that blood, sweat, tears, lesson, and all he had survived prior, K'Raska was dead.

What a solemn turn this had taken. The mascot of our fight dead. I felt like something had been ripped out of me, and the fabric of Elsweyr, the nation whose rebirth I had so proudly fought for, even when my help was so grudgingly accepted.

The Kings of Pellitine were elected by the nobles: at least King Ejabi he had some claim to the throne worth defending, some contract he obeyed, unlike Do'Dara or the Renrijra Krin. And I could guess he was a much more righteous ruler. So we still had something to fight for, but...something much more humble. It was heart-breaking. I would ask the details of his death later.

What else had transpired? Three weeks just...gone. How the city transformed?

"What about the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction?"

"They've been co-opted into local law enforcement, to replace dead watchmen and Confederates. They're patrolling the city, with red bands over their shoulders."

That was a piece of good news. It warmed me to see two former enemies getting a long. Still, losing the Mane was the worst blow I could have anticipated, short of losing the battle; yet losing the battle would have been far, far worse I now reckoned, with the sort of tyranny the Renrijra Krin was behind. Maybe I should be grateful.

I looked at my arms: they were definitely scrawnier. And I could only begin to imagine how they had taken care of my...other needs while I was out. But that would be for another time, if ever.

I sighed, and glanced around. Jilheen was captured, and the enemy, whoever they were, had three weeks to get away and cover their tracks. Surely he was a lost cause. Though we had some serious ideological chaffing between us, he was a brave soldier. Truly a tragic fate.

I looked back at Ah-Marz

"How's Torval been holding up?" Despite the heavy sacrifices, we had pulled the city's tail out of the fire after it made the mistake of chasing us out, the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction calling for help just in time.

"There's still crime, but more peaceful than we've seen it in a long time."

Good. So much to take in. Some many hills and valleys. But the city, at least, was doing well.

But they had been operating without me for three weeks.

"So what have you all been doing? Has someone else taken command?" I had been aware of every adventure of the other super-soldiers before this this point, not I was left with a month-sized gap. And who had taken charge? Jilheen-Bolineena had been the second highest ranking soldier after Rizzani was killed.

"Not much," the city boy replied. "We've been getting irregular orders from Ra'Karri, but Torval has calmed down quite a bit. Reesaka took charge while you were out."

The oldest among us. I wondered how he did. Despite his age, was even greener than me when it came to Legion service. Either way, I would take back the mantle, having come back into the waking world.

There would be so much to catch up on. I had lost three weeks of history, a good chunk of my muscles mass, and been in a nightgown for nearly a month. And I smelled sour and salty.

I sighed. "I should probably meet with Ejabi or Ra'Karri personally." Though obviously the meeting would not take place today.

Yet I thought back to the discouraging news of the Hist sap. "You said the sap's been acting up? You don't know why?" That power was something hard to let go of, especially as it was the defining characteristic of the order.

"No," he stated simply. "I guess nothing good lasts forever."

Potion went bad, fruit rotten. Hist sap had numbered days as well. In retrospect, it was a blessing we had not learned that earlier. So much good lucky, so much bad luck

This was a whole new world I was returning to. So much had risen and fallen. My biceps were back Arcane University size, and had they shaven me?

I smelled of sweat, I felt shakey, and my stomach felt strange and achy, having been without a solid meal for so long. Officer duties could certainly wait for tomorrow. Being unconscious for three weeks left someone with a lot to do, and a lot to learn.


	64. Man of the People

"This is an absurd book. But like all things Khajiiti, as the expression goes, 'gzalzi vaberzarita maaszi', or 'absurdity has become necessity.'"

-Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

Sun's Height 14, 4E2

Commerce District, Torval

* * *

It was a humid, hot day, but what I was seeing so far was encouraging. The streets were fuller; Not bustling, but far from desolate as I had become accustomed to. The debris of battle had been all cleaned up, though some visible nicks from arrows remained. The citywatch and Confederate patrols looked a little thin, but there was the new body in law enforcement: the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction, the red band wearing militia, and they had a substantial presence.

These streets were imbued with history for me, and for Elsweyr. They are where I had struck down countless Krin, walked for my first meeting with the Mane, and now where I would solemnly return to meet the man who had taken his mantle, this King Ejabi.

I swatted a grain-sized mosquito.

Three weeks had gone by, and all that stagnancy had taken a toll on my body. My arm muscles had been reduced. And my memory seemed to have gotten fuzzier with the blow to the head: I had forgotten the names of two Arcane University instructors, the first Inn I had stayed at, and the name of Piner Salinus' dog. My stomach had tightened substantially from the month-long diet of liquids, and my jaw was still tender to solid food. My thighs and buttocks had spawned copious pimples. I had jumped in a lake before coming to the city, but stagnancy and sweaty oily skin had still taken its toll.

I turned.

An Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction Ohmes-Raht was leaning against a building, with two sheathed daggers. It had taken a Renrijra Krin victory to convince the Jodavhir Vaasizar Elsweyri to come to our side, but it had worked. Torval had learned a hard lesson for turning away from me, but not too late.

I still had heard nothing of the other cities, but with the capital under control, it seemed it was only a matter of time until Elsweyr knew law and order again.

The next corner would bring me in view of the palace gates.

A capybara ran away from its bit of sweet bread as I made my way to the corner and navigated it.

What had been a nearly broken line was now back to being a posh regal gateway...even with a few scars of battle left on the nearby houses. Two city-watch seemed to have replaced the Warrior Guard who had been on the ground during the battle (the table and chair had stayed, the fruit removed), and on the turrets, I noticed someone familiar.

He called down, "Densius Fidelis?"

I kept walking, intended to get to a friendlier distance. The citywatch had stood up with attentive curiosity.

Just as the watchmen's hands went for their swords, I stopped. "Yes sir."

"Well I'll be damned! There was nothing but confusion on what happened to you. Half the people I talked to said you were dead." It might have been a miracle I was not, with the biceps on that Altmer.**  
**

"Guess they were wrong," I responded dryly. "I'm back in leadership of The Knights of New Elsweyr. I was hoping for an audience with King Ejabi or General Ra'Karri." A bit of a pompous thing to ask for on immediate notice perhaps but-

"I know General Ra'Karri is somewhere inside. His meeting with the King should be coming to a close."

Convenient. How would this play out? "So I should wait here?" It was generous to even be offered a meeting on the spot.**  
**

"Hell, I'd say you can come in, Fidelis. After what you've been through, I think you earned the privilege." Finally, some recognition of my pain by the locals, just what I yearned for so often. It would have been better from a civilian, but nonetheless -

He looked his subordinates below, accent promptly changing as he notified them of who I was. They stepped aside and the gates opened. The doors beckoned me inside with royal grace, as I had become one with Elsweyr high society. It was unfortunate that the most important man in that echelon, K'Raska, had been killed. Even after all he had endured. But at least Torval might find peace, and elected rule if not Divine Right.

Stepping in, the Warrior Guard was definitely more sparse, and one of the gazebos looked badly damaged. And the solemn sight of Mane's palace caught my eyes, standing empty, the timbers themselves utterly ignorant of the noble man they had lost.

I had seen these gardens once before, and they were still a marvel; This time, however, their beauty was a bit more sober.

It was the other palace I was heading for, the one I had not previously been granted entry: King Ejabi's. They did not look terribly different, albeit Ejabi's was not as grandiose: roof was not as high, and there were not as many windows.

What kind of person would the King be? Hearty and jolly? Stern and cold? Plain as porridge? And how well had he known K'Raska?

Still, these lush gardens were a rare spot of beauty in a city that had been so battered by war, a reminder that Elsweyr still had vestiges of peace and glory that might grow again, like little flowers in garden soil. And I was getting the opportunity to Torval's second most famous person, having earned a most intimate trust among the governance. I turned.

King Ejabi's door was attended by a lanky Khajiit in citywatch uniform, not Warrior Guard. That made sense, since the Warrior Guard served the Mane, while the King's army was the citywatch.

But I noticed someone sitting morosely in the nearby gazebo, with two _Confederate_ soldiers. General Ra'Karri?

Seeing a General in that mood was unsettling. His distress had him looking helplessly into his lap.

He seemed to want be left alone, so I continued for the door to the palace and stored it in the back of my mind, where it danced quietly. **  
**

The sentry put his hand out. "Halt. What is your business here?" It was definitely good they were on guard, after K'Raska's fate.

"I'm Densius Fidelis, leader of Elsweyra Ja Sabiruhto. I've been out of the loop for quite some time with a head injury. I was hoping to talk to King Ejabi."

He gave me a brusque nod and parted way. _That was easy._ I had really earned something special with Torval's high society. I entered.

This palace was structured similarly to the Mane's, with stairs and a high cieling, and a rug guiding the way, albeit this one with green leaf patterns. The path was flanked by golden statues of other majestic Khajiit rather than magical stone torches.**  
**

The Pahmar, King Ejabi, sat like a right triangle, with two citywatch Senches behind him.

"Well, this is a surprise. Who might you be, my dear man? I just finished a meeting with my dearest General!"

I stopped. Friendly demeanor, and excellent Cyrodilic, I liked him already. I could not even begin to get what had put Ra'Karri in such duress. "Densius Fidelis, leader of Elsweyra Ja Sabiruhto. You heard what happened to me, right sir? I know you and General Ra'Karri were commanding my men."

"Why of course! Come forward!" he said in a deep, jolly voice. He was very ambiable

I began climbing the steps. Ascending steps felt a bit more arduous than I remembered. It took me back to my days before the Legion.

I arrived at his elevation. He was sitting on a royal pillow, a carved clay bowl on a pedestal in front of him.

He looked to someone rightward. "Haas, tu yiz terrez a doka, tishi?"

There was a young Ohmes servant, sitting on a mahogany, cushioned chair, and he promptly got up and carried the chair over to me. I gave him a smile as he placed it a small ways in front of me for my own use. I sat down.

So far this was encouraging. I had the honor of speaking with this man on immediate notice and King Ejabi had a good heart. That warmed me.

"Now," the regal Khajiit spoke. "What's been on your mind?"

A good question. Might as well start out simple and general.

"Well, how's Torval holding up?" I inquired. It sounded a little unrefined speaking to royalty, but he was such an amiable man...

He laughed a little. "I dare say Torval still has problems, but it's seen far worse days. Many noble souls perished in the battle to take this city (their loss will be mourned), but the Renrijra Krin and Ri'Kissa's Front and all those assorted ruffians were dealt an even more gruesome blow. And news from the cities to the North is good as well!"

"Excellent." But there was one city south of Torval, did he leave that out intentionally? "What about Senchal?"

I scratched my thigh as I awaited the answer.**  
**

"The situation in Senchal is not so favorable. But with the Confederate military and the support of the other cities under my command, we've adequately dealt with the situation."

_Adequately dealt with the situation?_ Those intentionally vague words made me uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?" My previous high spirits were shrinking a little.**  
**

"The rebels did manage to overthrow the Queen there, quite unfortunate. But we've put the city under siege."

A siege. An incomplete, unromantic solution, leaving the populace under tyranny likely similar to what we had seen in Torval.

"You can't conduct a full scale invasion?" **  
**

"Such would be difficult. And I think we can both agree enough blood's been spilled." He ignored that the Renrijra Krin tyranny spilled blood too, after everything he had seen...He was being disingenuous, patronizing me. I was put on guard. "It would really be a war...the Elsweyr Confederacy versus the city-state of Senchal. We've opted for a non-violent solution instead." **  
**

"Renrijra Krin tyranny shed a lot of blood here in Torval too. It was worth a war for_ us_."

He sighed. My comfort waned further. "You sound like my General. I assure you, the reigning party will give up in due time." I had significant doubts there.

"The Renrijra Krin are stubborn bastards. What makes you so sure?" I was a bit annoyed now, but was still speaking to royalty on a generously thin ground.

"A siege is not without it's costs too, my dear boy. A city is never built to survive on its down. Famine, disease, even thirst, all these things take their toll. There's been a recent outbreak of Berashi-Navio, what I believe your people call Chanthrax Blight, and the Renrijra Krin is already begging for medicine."

Famine? Diseases? That was non-violence? How manipulative and intellectually dishonest was this previously esteemable man?

I was starting to feel combative, my illusion of his character breaking fast. "It's a toll that's going to be felt by everyone in the city walls! The Renrijra Krin will probably feel it last! They'll hog all the food, water, and medicine for themselves!"And surely he must have realized that!

"You sound like my General!" His tone was sharp. "We don't need any more death and destruction here in Elsweyr. We're not sending any troops in to the city!"

"Disease? Famine? That's not death!?" This guy was just as delusional as the other students in the Arcane University!

He sighed heavily, and looked down. My blood was starting to boil. "Yes," he said solidly. "But it will be silent death."

What a cowardly concession!

"And that's any better!?"

He lifted his head back up and looked me straight in the eyes. "Yes, Mr. Fidelis. It is." His words were turgid. "I live in a world of politics. I was elected to this office by the nobles of the city, and given authority of the Confederate military by the votes of the other Kings. A war means sending the sons of citizens in every other city to die. It means journalists flocking to the theater of battle, and recording the every transgression of my soldiers against the populace we came to liberate, it means fighting a dragging conflict with guerillas after the reigning party has fallen, just like you fought here in Torval."

"No!" I protested vehemently. "I saw the streets, they're peaceful now!" My heart was pounding.

"Not entirely," he said. "Your men still have had work to do, and we've seen this before...the rebels retreat for a short time, then regroup, and come back with the same force and terror."

My previous firm sense of synchronization with Elsweyr's elite was lost. I said, weakly, with only half belief, "You'll be remembered as a coward and monster." But I had seen first hand what those taking the warrior's path were depicted as.

He did not seem offended, unwavering. "I've studied history, Mr. Fidelis. No doubt you've heard of the war of Bendr'Mahk, The Gideon Conflict, the Five Years War**.** But have you ever heard of the Siege of Markharth? The Embargo on Summerset Isle? The Pegalian blockade on Stros M'kai?" In fact I had heard of one, but his point stood. "No. The people notice wars. The people never notice a blockade, a siege. No one but the enemy and their subjects do. And yes, the ruling party invariably hoards the most essential goods. But when the death toll climbs on the civilian populace, when those in charge start to feel the grip of the ensnarement, they cave. Many innocent citizens of Senchal have died from my approach, I am aware, but going into Senchal now would only mean putting my men in the reach of the widows, orphans, and the sonless fathers and their vengeful wrath. You have an expression in Cyrodiil, I believe. 'When you're riding a tiger...'"

He was flaunting this unabashedly craven attitude to my face. He knew the moral absurdity of the world and yet was playing to it!

But the terrifying truth was the eerie veracity of his words. All the harsh, solemn wisdom I had learned was being spit out in front of me, in the service of evil; Returning to the scene of the crime meant facing your victims, while walking away kept you safe. Kae'tar proved that. And war attracted interested minds like flies, but a siege meant curious authors and journalists could not even get inside the territory in which death and misery were taking place, so it never meant people back home hearing about the latest massacre committed by the soldiers fighting in their name, and it meant never having to bring back news of a brave man's death to her widow. **  
**

But I had stood in the face of those stigmas, and always insisted the Empire do the same, choosing righteousness over reputation. I had been willing to get my hands red and sticky to stop the flow of blood, even when it meant becoming a criminal to my home nation. I had been willing to step onto center stage, even if the only thing others would see me do was slaughter. And he was telling me to my face _he_ could not! Without any shame!

"So you're...you're a coward." Though the words ended softly. I felt small. Yes, I had said those words to a king, at his throne, but I felt small. It was not an accusation as much as the expression of disappointment from a betrayed child.

"No," he responded, having taken neither offensive nor softened. "I simply understand politics. You should too. You saw how war tainted the legacy of your leaders in Cyrodiil: Potentate Ocato, Uriel Septim VII...I simply wish to avoid such notoriety and failure."

And this was man who, just a few minutes ago, possessed such an encouraging character. He was a slick bastard.**  
**

I tried one more time to appeal to some hidden decency. "You're letting civilians die with your blockade. A lot will have to die before the Renrijra Krin surrender. You're not saving lives."

"Maybe so," he said dourly. The most despicable admission of apathy yet. "But I am saving death from the eyes that matter. You saw protests against the wars in Elsweyr and Morrowind in your own Imperial City, correct? Have you ever even heard the term 'anti-siege' protest? Have you ever seen 'anti-siege' literature?"

He looked me hard in the eyes. I said nothing.

He continued. "No. It's a quiet solution."

Talking about leaving innocents to die from disease a quiet solution? I could only stare at him with a smoldering gaze. And perhaps he felt the tiniest compulsion to sound more humanitarian in the face of this. "Could we even win? We might need leave the city worse than we found it. Of course we could break through the portals, retake the palace. But then? Confederate soldiers would march the streets for months, liquidated three or four a day for months on end. Until what? Until my growing unpopularity would mean I would have to relinquish command of my Confederates, just like your Potentate Ocato, and the troops would be recalled. And then Senchal would simply fall back into chaos, all that pain for nothing!"

"But we managed _here_!" He was justifying himself now, at least, but he was disgracing everything The Knights of New Elsweyr had accomplished, everything I saw today with my own eyes, all the glorious progress and hope we had brought this country for the new era! "We won here in Torval!"

He laughed heartily. It was a vile sound. "_We_ won? Well, my dear boy, I think that's a bit of an egotistical proclamation. It was Jodavhir Vaasizar Elsweyri who ultimately saved us."

I felt a jolt of anger. "And they didn't think they could win without me! They came to _me_ for help!" How dare he dismiss The Knights of New Elsweyr! Even his own soldiers!

"Well," the Pahmar scoffed. "If you believe you can liberate Senchal all by yourself, and earn the love and gratitude of its people, be my guest. But I and my Confederate soldiers will have no part of it."

It said the words with simple resolution an confidence. The truth was indeed that I could not make him.

I was shaking. I felt slapped in the face. Punched in the stomach.

There a painful lump in my throat. My heart had sunk below the pit of my stomach. I had nothing else to say. From a perspective of self-interest, he was right. That provided a wall one could not breach.

This province...this...era! It was all so absurd. Famine and disease were being called "non-violent." Genocidal tactics were being used to avoid being painted as a savage.

Suddenly, I was struck with a sense of familiarity:

_gzalzi vaberzarita maaszi_

What to expect from an era where 'foreign oppression' was killing bandits who would murder someone over a shirt so that the local populace could be governed by their own damn gods? What to expect from an era where a politician's motives were a more important consideration than the fate of an entire nation? Where it was considered more noble to let evil flourish than be struck down for someone else's profit? What to expect from an era where a king who came to power through force and foreign money, who did not even allow his own people to leave his dominion, was considered a "sovereign" while a Mane chosen by Elsweyr's beloved moons, who did not even grant Cyrodiil a single fort in his nation while every other province in Tamriel contained one, was a 'puppet' to be resisted. **  
**

Absurdity had become necessity. And Ejabi was simply acting on necessity.

And what could I do?

It seemed childish, maybe even pathetic, but it was the most dignifying response I could think of: I stood up, turned, and walked.

I could only imagine how my back looked to his proud, calculated, cold gaze. It was like a vital force had been torn out of me. After all the glory in the battle of Torval, the beauty of the fuller streets, I was seeing the same cheap, gutless politics that had made me abandon my beloved Cyrodilic Empire.

Back down the steps, there was bitter taste in my mouth, and water held beneath the edge of my tear ducts.

"Dynamism!" he called. I stopped. "It's not death people hate, it's dynamism! You should have figured that out long ago!"

I did not know what that meant. I had no intention to ask. I did not care. I marched my way down the rest of the steps.

Passing the statues, they were probably braver men than Ejabi. Or maybe most politicians were like him. Not Uriel and Ocato though. But Ocato had been cast into the trash pile of history, and Uriel's legacy was only saved by his martyrdom to the Mythic Dawn.

What a travesty the moral compass of the Fourth Era was.

Heading through the doors, back into the light, I did not doubt the swordsman who had let me in had a lot of questions on his mind. But he would not getting any answers.

This era wanted a hero, but there was no way to become one: you either kept a low profile and died with a nuetral image, or you got your hands dirty and became a villain. There could _be_ no heroes in the Fourth Era. Only innocents and villains.

But then the sight of the man in the gazebo hit me again. General Ra'Karri...was his previously unexplained source of distress was the same as mine? What else could it be?

The mystery was solved, and I had been right to be unsettled, yet this was also a positive testament to his character and now something to be appreciated; It meant was not alone in this disgust. I did not have to be bitter at the entire world.

He had two guards. One briefly glanced at me.

It was encouraging to know I had a brother in sentiment. Both in Cyrodiil and in Elsweyr, there were the brave and the craven. Should I talk to him? Yes. I would call his attention.

I pushed out the words, "General Ra'Karri," half way between a yell and normal volume, and they broke the humid air. Both his sentries now turned to me. He rotated to the best of his ability too.

"Oh! Hello Densius Fidelis! I'm...thrilled you've recovered." Though I could tell even seeing me come back from the dead only captivated half his mind. We both had similar things weighing us down. "Why don't you come have a seat with me." It was a warm, gentlemanly offer, in the mits of a sad, discouraging political affair.

He addressed his guards and got them to part ways as I came forward. Being permitted to bounce around Elsweyr's high society like this would have normally been an ecstatic privilege, but as it stood it was a more somber one. I climbed up the few steps and took a seat opposite him.

He tried his best to keep a jolly tone, even amid shaken souls. "So you're back in command? Did you recover alright?" I knew this was not what either of us really wanted to talk about, but I had yet to think of a way to bring up our mutual grievances gracefully.

"Mostly." There was an elephant in the room I was now calculating how to address.

"Right...well, I'm sorry about your loss. Jileen-Bolnea was it? Missing In Action?"

"Jilheen-Bolineena," I corrected flatly. "And yeah, I think he was captured by the elves we were fighting with." Funny, he had actually fallen from his place as my forefront concern after this nasty spat with King Ejabi.

"Fighting with? You mean fighting against? Or...?"

"No, our allies. Lilimia and Athelmar were their names. You wouldn't happen to know anything about them, would you?" Even with my fury at the King I could not forget my comrade.

"No, I'm sorry, my lad. I can't imagine what they...hmh..."

He looked down again. Probably the last thing he wanted to be burdened with was a new question. Was he even going to allow himself to be.

The bugs of the garden buzzed. That seemed to be the end of that conversational thread.

A man we both disliked was running Elsweyr just behind us. A man of the people: These days, maybe the worst kind.

The old Khajiit looked back up again with a fake smile and glassy eyes. "You seem down," I said. It was obvious, but might bring the crucial topic into the conversation.

He gave a weak smirk. I noticed how tired his eyes looked. "Oh, me? No, no, I just..."

He looked down again. It was probably even harder for him to admit his disgust with King Ejabi than I. Silence. I waited.**  
**

"...it's just His Highness and I, King Ejabi..." Here it was, although he was still maintaining decorum. "We don't see eye to eye on everything. He's...put me in charge of a siege of the city of Senchal. That siege is killing the citizens. I've insisted it would be best to liberate the territory directly but..."

"I agree." He probably did not even know that I had stormed out over that topic.

We were from two different worlds: one of us Cyrodilic, one of us Elsweyri, one of us a General, one of us a Corporal, but we shared an intimate connection in this.

He seemed to find some relief in company, some rejuvenation, but he concluded, "Well, I suppose we're all beholden to our superiors in the end, aren't we?"

I gave a sardonic laugh. Perhaps he forgot exactly who he was talking to.

"I wasn't," I said irreverently.

Densius Fidelis was already an outlaw in one province.

Angry and maverick minded, I was starting to consider history might repeat itself.


	65. Boundless

"This infamous city is the largest port in southern Tamriel. Its sprawl covers the easternmost tip of Elsweyr's Quin'rawl peninsula, a motley assortment of bazaars, taverns, merchant quarters, and open-air markets ringed on three sides by its crowded harbors." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition, "The Elsweyr Confederacy"

Sun's Height 18, 4E2

Ri'Susza Road, Quin'Rawl Peninsula

* * *

Droopy ferns and thick green leaves lined our path. I had been in Elsweyr for a long time, bloody, tumultuous time. I had lost track of how long. I had been changed so much, learned so much, and more importantly, been slapped in the face with an endless string of harsh realities. Were General Ra'Karri's experiences just as tumultuous? I did not know.

I had arrived in Elsweyr hoping to be a hero. Imagined again and again being carried on a palanquin by cheery locals. But that game had been rigged from the start. I had found plenty of other labels: The favorite was, perhaps, "foreign oppressor." A redundant term, as evidently being foreign alone made my agenda "oppressive." If fighting against barbarians so crazed for power they would kill a man over his shirt, to ensure a people could be ruled by progeny of their own gods was 'oppression', then there was literally, indisputably, unequivocally no action conceivable which would not fall under the purview of oppression. The Nords assisting with the Alessian Rebellion would be "foreign oppressors" by modern definition.

And it meant 'freedom' had been rebaptised as simply survival of the biggest sword, rule by whoever stood on top when the dust cleared (so long as they were born here, at least). Not self rule, not rule by those who represented the populace, not rule by law that protected all, but rule by whoever stood atop the most bodies, no matter how ill-representative or authoritarian they be.

The absurdities that people fought and died over here...

The end of the lush jungle cover was visible, like the light of a cave exit. I felt a small sheet of anxiety in my stomach, but also thrill, as I was about to change the course of history. This time more visibly and spectacularly. More explosively.

Even when my goals were accepted, I had had two roads to take: claim my actions altruistic and have every failure blamed on wild conspiracy, or claim self-interest and be seen as a mercenary, killing for money. And to some, being mercenary alone made all my actions invalid, as if appeasing one man's self-interest was a worse crime than leaving an entire nation to a grim fate.

Tamriel said it wanted a hero, but really such was no longer possible; There were only innocents and villains. The center stage meant only vilification. It meant everyone knowing my story and all the black marks on my history, and I could say nothing back to ocean of anonymous face who tarnished my name: it was not like I could look up all their pasts.

Whoever took up the scepter and the sword was always vilified, and yet the world never noticed the pattern.

Becoming visible was the sight of the mighty army that held Senchal. Siege towers, catapults, rows of troops. All amassed great power, yet all were prohibited from touching it. King Ejabi's army was mighty as a mountain, but his reputation was fragile as a flower, and it was for King Ejabi's reputation they held back.

The leader had taken the easy way out, avoiding infamy by avoiding action, avoiding noise. I thought back to Do'Dara: a brute who killed over rude words and abducted citizens to serve as his slaves. Not a paragon by a long shot, but at least he had been willing to take infamy away from the ruffians and the Krin, bear the sins of power and enforcement himself, even if many of his sins were unnecessary. In that way, he deserved respect the King did not, even though he had met death by my sword.

Ra'Karri coughed. A casual bodily function, but he knew we were on our way to something both grand and damning. We were two men from high places, fallen, or soon to be, from our society's pedestals, going their own way from disillusionment with superiors.

Now were about to present ourselves to the public again, as important men, after so much time shrouded by the jungle foliage on a back road, Missing In Action to the people of Torval. I had outlined what I needed to do.

We had turned our first head as we were only a few yards from the clear land. There would be many more.

Then another turned. Then another. For weeks these troops had known nothing but stagnancy, imposed by the will of their king. Now they were seeing someone new, but they had not even began to comprehend our significance.

We crossed into the sunshine, as a multitude of heads had come to look at us. They knew the General's uniform. And that gave me silent, even if grudging, permission to be accepted (as his company). And it also gave him permission to keep his business to himself. Ra'Karri remained tight lipped. He did not say a word.

Birds circled overhead. We did not need to answer to anybody even as eyes upon eyes accumulated. The sun burned upon us and the thousands of troops watched this pair, as the staff, filled with historic power, lied in wait on my back. We walked the path with mystery, authority, and defiance.

A more important figure look our way, this one in officer's garb. But not of higher status than Ra'Karri.

Ahead was a city starving and diseased, it's main portals jammed shut and citizens locked in from this side by a huge wooden girder. The worst punishment one could bestow on a state was isolation. And yet we Cyrodiils were vilified for trying to bring Elsweyr into the"Cyrodilic Money Machine", in Fourth Era Pundit parlance. And now Senchal was experiencing what being left out of "the money machine" felt like. Such empty rhetoric had spilled so much blood in Elsweyr. It might spill even more when that portal opened, but we would let that fire burn.

We passed the lower ranking officer.

The birds over head cried. They were as oblivious to our agenda as all these people. These soldiers knew how to kill, how to parry, how to break legs, how make a man bleed to death with a single slice, but not what were the intentions of Ra'Karri and Densius Fidelis.

I then felt close enough, and stopped.

Once this started I had to continue, no turning back until that door was a smoldering ruin.

I braced myself for a half second, about to make another major change in my life by the simple, mysterious force of free will.

Then in one fluid, numb, unthinking motion, I took the staff, brought it to bear and started discharging.

One fireball, sailing with a defiant glow through the afternoon sun, a symbol of my irreverence.

Two.

"Ratherzay! Stop!" I heard someone yell behind me. I continued, even as I heard his feet pounding towards me. The questions and condemnations of authorities no longer had any pull on me. "What the hell are you doing!?"

Three. And the first one detonated as the feet smacked the ground and my muscles were taut, whether the coming confrontation be of words or muscle.

I fired my last shot, the last one I needed, just before a furry arm came within range to forcibly lower my staff.

I knew he would have killed me on the spot if I was not with a man in a General's uniform. I turned to see the officer I had noticed earlier.

"What on Nirn is going on here?" he spat. He looked over me to Ra'Karri. "General, what is the meaning of this?"

Meanwhile, the balls of fire were exploding upon the portal.

"The siege has ended, Colonel. I'm ordering a full scale invasion of the city of Senchal." Both of us, utterly unrestrainable.

The expression on the Colonel's face was amply flustered. "What is the meaning of this!?" he repeated. "Why were we given no advanced warning!? Why are you alone with this man!?" No doubt he had never seen something like this before. Had history? Not that I knew of.

"That's irrevelant," the General proclaimed with arrogant simplicity.

Then I took the mantle. "What matters is that the gates are opened. You can't isolate yourself from the people of Senchal any more. No more solipsism: out of sight, out of mind is no longer relevant." Hiding action from the public spectacle was the greatest and most sinister trick of the coy politician, at least in this cynical, faithless era. It was what allowed King Ejabi to keep his favor, and what sent niave fools like Ocato into history's dustbin. But I was not a politician. I needed not worry what others thought of me, and that was my greatest strength.

The Colonel's attention again shifted to Ra'Karri. "Who ordered you to come here? Ya'rasha zo ik kerri!?"

The General, perhaps showing reverence for me over him, kept it in Cyrodilic. "Colonel, give the order to attack. We are reclaiming Senchal today." What bold, invigorating words. We, just two men, were changing the gameplan. It was amazing what one could accomplished when he disregarded society.**  
**

The other Khajiit began furiously ranting. "Parnaszi! Ikorro za dobba, asha jiva'kani zulin morro jiffar ro, var assi, las exiti vano-"

I cut him off. "You have not choice. The gates are opened. The Renrijra Krin or whoever's incharge could come flooding out now and-"

"You think the doors being destroyed makes such a difference!?" the Colonel shouted back. "Any force that tries to exit that way will be funneled and picked off by the siege towers." Very well. Siege towers could be brought down with one shot. I let nothing get between me and my goal.

Fearless and charged with righteous energy, I took a few steps back. "Then I'll destroy the towers." Killing my allies would be a new hurdle to cross, but I had showed I had made no concession to rules, there was nothing within my current capabilities I would not do.

"That's your suicide!" the Colonel proclaimed angrily. It seemed almost comical he thought I did not realize that, that it mattered to me. "My archers will-"

"Yes. Suicide surely. But I'll accomplish my objective. Your men can't put me down before I get at least one shot off. I'd wager two."

I was just one little Imperial against an army, but when one little man stopped worrying about self-preservation, it was amazing what he could get done.

No doubt such irreverence was torturous and infuriating to the Colonel, who had seen his whole life through a lense of discipline, law, and order.

I kept my focus on the tower, waiting for any sudden movement to release the shot. Though I wondered what an arrow in the chest would feel like, or a claw slitting my throat after being tackled to the ground, none of it would effect my decision. There was nothing off my limits now. I knew only my goal and would cut through anything on its path.

Being out of the center of my vision, both of them were blurs, but I believe he turned to Ra'Karri.

The Khajiit spat "Ra'Karri Do'sagana, za taji'dor ahzirr -"

Then I heard the distinct, harsh, zap of an electric spell, and I think their gazes flew over to the freshly opened entrance, where a bolt had flown from the portal. It had hit a Confederate. Senchal's inescapability incarnate.

I was responsible for that death, but he was just a symbol in the grand scheme of things.

A cacophany erupted and protectiles began flying back and worth. My words had been put in reality. My point was corporeal. As the Colonel was distracted, I took additional steps back, keeping my aim on the siege tower with mechanical resolve.

I said simply, "Give the order, Colonel." Now in an even better position to threaten. "Ra'Karri, tell him what to say so I know he's not fooling." I almost pitied the man, stuck between the law and a dangerous, impervious firebrand like myself, but pity is something I had to push aside for others, just as I had for myself.

"Palizad**, **usitiitu," Ra'Karri chose, saying the words carefully.**  
**

And those were the words I would wait for, ears sensitive and primed.

I did not shift my eyes or aim from the siege tower. I knew one shot is all I might have time to get off if he cried for assistance. The Colonel remained a blur in the outskirts of my vision. I could only imagine his face. And his thoughts.

He might get prosecuted for giving this order. That was unfortunate. He was likely a decent man caught in the middle of this. But the city of Senchal, with its thousands of suffering innocents, was at stake. And so was the message that would be inscribed in history.

Then that blur changed. He turned to his subordinates, and I tensed, muscles priming. With a broad, vigorous gesture, he shouted:

"Palizad, usitiitu!"

And with those words, countless feet began charging forwards.


	66. ---

Summer sun was pouring through the windows, bits crystalline light shining onto his desk. Faesadil sipped his magically chilled Cyrodilic Brandy. As much as he loathed the nation north of the border, he was not adverse to sampling some of its finer aspects. Although class was what the slave rebels had stolen from his people, amalgamating Nordic barbarism with delicate Elven sensibilities.

It was a knock at the door that brought Faesadil back to reality. He put his glass back down by his plate of kollopi. "Come in," he said. It had been a boring day; Whether it was Sonwe or Agarond, he was eager for news. **  
**

It was Sonwe: the tall, sharp-featured, fire haired, fellow Altmer. She had a tremendous grin on her face. This perked up Faesadil.

"Some news?" he inquired.

She jovially picked up one of the juicy morsels on his plate, popped it in her mouth, and chewed briskly, leaving him in a moment of suspense. Then she swallowed.

"Yes, that 'Knight of New Elsweyr' we captured has finally cracked!" Her voice was moist with excitement.

That was indeed a long awaited milestone!

"The Argonian?" This would certainly be a competent counter to his ennui. This entailed massive amounts of new tasks and wonders.

"Yes."

Faesadil had never betrayed much emotion, but his spirits were reignited.

"Excellent," the Altmer said smoothly. "Be sure to reward Lilimia, Athelmar, and Celria for their efforts. Our work in Elsweyr seems to have been fruitful." It had taken a while to get one alive, but what a reward the catch would be! He picked up the magically chilled glass again and took another sip. "So we know how they did it?"

"Hist sap," she answered quickly. "Makes perfect sense. It coincided with that expedition into Black Marsh. The nature of the procedure was detailed in this letter," she put a piece of parchment down on his desk. "It involves some basic necromantic magic and Dwemer technology, but nothing difficult to procure."

This was truly excellent. The Empire's secrets were being apprehended in their youth. He was eager to dive into the matter. Even being a mere administrator, he felt a sense of adventure.

He looked it over. It was not simple...but not complex either. However, it looked like it required large quantities of sap. That dampened his enthusiasm: it did not look very compatible with the diminutive, extralegal, and clandestine nature of their activities. And there was something at the bottom about Hist sap 'spoiling' after a few months as well. Had Sonwe's optimism been misplaced?

"It doesn't seem quite as economical as I would have hoped," the Altmer said soberly. "How long does it take to extract this amount of sap from a tree? How easy would it be to accomplish any of this in secret?"

"Very difficult, as long as the province is controlled by our Imperial enemies." He knew where she was going with this, and now saw why she was so enthralled with the news. "Using these magics for our own purposes may yet be out of the question. But this revelation is a game changer! Black Marsh could become a key asset in the near future. I propose we shift our focus away from Elsweyr. We've got what we needed from that land."

That was not a union he would be hard-pressed to end. Elsweyr had been a painful project. The attack on Fort Nomore had prolonged the war briefly, but the Empire did not bleed as much as he had hoped. The Mane was dead, but the Empire did not quite lose. The resistance had fought valiantly, but the Elsweyri Revolutionary Faction had merged with the authorities, and the Renrijra Krin was nigh defeated (not that he mourned such a prospect, given the headache those primitive savages had proven to be).

And if there was a way to persuade Fasaedil of the importance of 'The Garbage Heap of Tamriel', he had certainly been presented with it. Sonwe had at last found what she needed to win him over it seemed. An-Xileel were not the type of people the man would look forward to working with; They were xenophobic, primitive heathens. Not unlike the Krin, who had stabbed them in the back upon taking Torval.

But they knew An-Xileel had been both popular and restless with the Imperial incursions into Black Marsh. There was quiet talk of violence ever slithering through their movement. And if the Empire's grip could be pried from the province, it would cut off their access to the newly realized magic of the Hist sap, cull their mighty ambitions in pitiful youth.

If they could maintain friendship with An-Xileel, it would facilitate their access as well. If not...

"It would be useful to have friends in the province," he mused. "Even more useful to oust our enemies, if such ambition can be entertained...but An-Xileel are a slippery bunch. They've made their distrust of our kind evident."

"Maybe they won't be stalwart allies," the woman said, her enthusiasm still fresh and vigorous. "But surely a strong enemy. Another power to set against the Empire."

That was true. If the Cyrodiil was to break in his lifetime, this is when it would be pushed over the edge. A hostile Argonia might snap the Imperial Dragon's already sickly, burdened back. Maybe. But...

"You truly believe 'The Garbage Heap of Tamriel' could become a player on the world stage? The lizardmen have never conquered anyone. Not on their own."

She smiled confidently. "If they're willing to exploit the Hist trees like the Cyrodiils, I think they would become their neighbors' greatest fright!"


End file.
